


Feels Like Falling

by gluupor



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Big Bang 2020, Andrew has his own friends and interests, Aro-spec Andrew, Embedded Images, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Implied Sexual Content, Lawyer!Andrew, M/M, Not EC-compliant, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, pro exy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26234710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluupor/pseuds/gluupor
Summary: After college Andrew left behind both exy and Neil. Five years later, he’s built himself a stable life with nothing wanting. Sure, he hasn’t had a meaningful relationship since college, but he hasn’t found anyone compatible and he’s not overly interested in romance, anyway. He has friends, family, and pets; he’s not missing out on anything.Or so he thinks, until a chance encounter brings him back in contact with his unfairly attractive ex. As he and Neil get to know each other again, Andrew starts thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’s allowed to have it all.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 435
Kudos: 1338
Collections: AFTG Big Bang 2020





	1. July

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broship_addict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broship_addict/gifts), [kysprite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kysprite/gifts).



> It's finally time to post my fic for this year's big bang! I'm so excited to share it with you.
> 
> I was incredibly lucky to work with two amazing artists ([@broship-addict](http://broship-addict.tumblr.com) and [@kysprite](http://kysprite.tumblr.com)) whose art will be embedded in future chapters. They both did such an amazing job; I can't wait for everyone to see what they came up with!
> 
> In addition to my artists, I'd like to extend thanks to Alexis and Nikos who both read this over and gave me useful feedback. Also more thanks to Nikos for putting in the time and effort into running this event again <3
> 
> This fic has been in the back of my mind for a long time. It was originally conceived as a humorous one shot based on the song Centerfold by the J. Geils Band, and then it morphed into this. I've always wondered what would happen if Andrew decided not to pursue exy; after all, Neil did say to him "Borrow [my obsession] until you have something of your own."

> _**From:** me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> _**To:** doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> _**Subject:** RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Sanity level: 5_
> 
> _sale on moose tracks ice cream. bought seventeen cartons._
> 
> _RE: graduation. I don’t care how many degrees you get, I’m not calling you dr.minyard_

Andrew killed the engine and cut the lights, sitting for a few moments in the dark, cool interior of his car. He was feeling calm and centred; the unwanted panic and helplessness resulting from the nightmare that had driven him from his bed less than an hour previously had been displaced by the familiar relaxation that came from driving quickly down dark streets. It was times like these that he most missed his Maserati. His VW Golf R was zippy but its 250hp was no match for the 400 he was used to. And despite the fact that it was a super fancy Golf it was still a _Volkswagen Golf_. It was never going to replace his beast of an Italian sports car.

He pushed his way out of his car and slammed the door, letting the sound reverberate in the silent parking lot. The good thing about doing his grocery shopping at three in the morning was that no one else was around and he was guaranteed a good parking spot. Stepping through the automated doors of the King Soopers, he winced against the fluorescent lights. He’d been in near-darkness for awhile now, save the sodium-orange street lights reflecting off the wet pavement, the muted red of his dashboard, and the obnoxious brightness of stop lights.

There were three employees in the store: a bored-looking heavy set woman yawning behind the till, an older man with stooped shoulders mopping the floor, and a teenager with earbuds stocking shelves. Andrew ignored all of them, fishing his phone out of his pocket and pulling up his notes app where he kept track of what groceries he needed.

Grocery shopping in the middle of the night had been a regular occurrence since back in college whenever either he or Neil woke frequently with memories or nightmares and needed to get out of the dorm. A long drive followed by a trip to the 24-hour grocery store near campus had been their remedy. Andrew had lost the habit in recent years, but bad nights still happened. It was inevitable given the case he was working on.

He often amused himself by imagining what his teenage self would think about his career choice. Three years at law school had netted him some letters after his name and a job with the district attorney. He’d considered becoming a defense attorney, but the articling position he’d held after his first year of law school at one of the more lucrative law firms in the area had disabused him of that notion. The first time he’d had to help the senior lawyers prepare to defend an unrepentant rapist made him quit. Instead, he was now in the business of prosecuting, although he had vague plans of becoming a public defender once he paid off his school loans.

As he was still a junior member of the DA’s office, he had very few high profile or difficult cases. For his most recent one he’d been second chair in a trial where a man had been convicted of sexually abusing his two young children. Andrew had compartmentalized throughout the entire process, but he’d known that ignoring the issue wouldn’t make it go away. Unsurprisingly, he’d been plagued by memories of his time in foster care ever since the case had wrapped and he’d let his rigid barriers relax.

He shook off his thoughts. He was fine. He had an appointment with his therapist the following week and his mood stabilizers were working as they should. He could deal with a couple sleepless nights as long as he could continue making the world a slightly safer place for those kids.

Andrew loaded up his cart with veg, making sure to pick up a variety of leafy greens for Lord. Then he flipped to a couple recipes he had saved on his phone to survey their ingredient lists. He had a free day on Sunday and he wanted to try a few new recipes.

Walking through the aisles and adding to his haul settled him as much as driving had. His job kept him busy and working long hours, so he rarely had time to do more than quickly pick something up on his way home. Extended shopping trips only ever happened on nights like these, so Andrew took advantage of it to restock both his cupboards and his freezer with essentials.

After going over his list one last time, he nodded in satisfaction and headed for the check-out. Pulling up to the single open lane, he stopped still in his tracks, his heart beating wildly.

Staring out at him accusingly from the cover of a magazine was a very familiar pair of ice blue eyes.

LGBTQ EXY STARS BARE ALL! was the headline slapped across Neil’s intense stare. It was a headshot, completely black-and-white except for the blue of his eyes. Andrew swallowed heavily but didn’t look away. Five years. It had been over five years since he’d last seen Neil in person and the sight of him still left him breathless.

He knew he should ignore it. He should keep going on his set path, head to the till and pay for his groceries. Instead, he reached out and touched the glossy paper, running his fingers along the marred skin under Neil’s left eye as if he could feel the roughness. It wasn’t airbrushed or touched up in any way, much to Andrew’s surprise. He’d inevitably seen several magazine photos of Neil throughout the years and his facial scars had always been downplayed.

Andrew snatched his hand away, glancing around to ensure no one had seen his brief moment of insanity. He shook his head and took a step farther toward the cash before reconsidering and turning back to grab a copy of the magazine off the shelf, throwing it carelessly face down into the cart.

He forced himself to ignore the magazine, despite the way it seemed to glimmer bright in his peripheral vision, as he moved his groceries onto the conveyor belt. The cashier barely looked at him as she scanned and bagged his items, looking like a zombie or a sleepwalker. That was another good thing about shopping in the middle of the night; workers rarely wanted to make small talk with him. Although, he had occasionally run into lonely people who wanted company and were hard to shake off.

After paying for everything, he loaded it up in his car and drove home, trying not to feel like he had a ticking time bomb curled around cans of cat food in a plastic bag sitting in his trunk.

Once he arrived back at his apartment, he made himself put away all his groceries in their proper places before letting himself look at the magazine again. Both his cats showed up to watch his progress, blinking sleepily under the kitchen lights. Despite the fact that they sometimes didn’t recognize _him_ if he was wearing a scarf or a beanie, they had no trouble identifying the cans containing cat food. Sir wound his way around Andrew’s ankles while King stared unblinkingly with her watchful, yellow eyes from her perch on the bar counter. She kept carefully out of reach of Andrew’s hands, mistrustful and standoffish despite that he’d never grabbed her in all her time living with him.

Which, he supposed, was exactly the type of cat behaviour he’d asked for. The cats had been his therapist’s idea; a replacement for human contact to reduce his isolation and prevent him from becoming touch starved. He’d taken the proposal to Thursday night drinks at the Arrow and it had been generally approved. He’d then talked it over with Alice, who volunteered at an animal shelter, and they’d made a list of what kind of cats would work best for him.

The consensus was that he should get two of them, preferably two that already knew and accepted each other, because of his long hours at work. He asked that neither of them be particularly cuddly, because he wasn’t sure he could handle too much physical contact. It had taken a couple weeks, but Alice had found him Sir and King.

King had a glossy black coat and she likely had some Siamese in her, based on the shape of her face and her high pitched scream-like meows. She was wary around—well, most things. She accepted Andrew and sometimes deigned to be in the same room as him (especially if there was food), but she didn’t like to be touched, except for being brushed every week or so. She mostly kept to herself, spending the majority of her time either in Andrew’s bedroom or the spare room.

Conversely, Sir was always around. He was a medium-haired brown tabby with giant enough feet to indicate some Maine Coon ancestry. He was endlessly curious, climbing into every box and onto Andrew’s laptop or any papers he placed on flat surfaces. Sir was very dog-like in the way he followed Andrew from room to room and came running if his name was called. However, he wasn’t a lap cat, preferring to sit next to Andrew at all times.

Andrew’s third pet had been acquired accidentally. Andrew had found Lord beside the dumpster outside his building the previous fall, slowly climbing his way out of a shoe box. A quick trip to the vet identified him as a Hermann’s tortoise, which the vet told him was often abandoned due to their long lives. She’d offered to help rehome him, but Andrew had already made up his mind to keep him and had blown almost the entirety of his next paycheque on a giant wooden vivarium table that took up an entire wall of his not-overly-large living room.

After unpacking his groceries, he gave Lord a cursory glance to make sure the tortoise was still sleeping and then topped up the cats’ food bowls to distract them so they wouldn’t follow him. He took the magazine, which he’d laid face down on the table, and shut himself in his bedroom. He knew he’d have to get up and open the door a crack before he tried to sleep again or else Sir would try to rip a hole through the wood by morning.

He propped himself up on his pillows before taking a deep breath and turning the magazine around. Neil was still gazing out at him with a challenge in his eyes. He wondered how the photographer had pulled that expression out; Neil usually looked angry and vaguely uncomfortable in most of the publicity photos Andrew had seen of him, but here he was relaxed and confident and a little teasing. Andrew idly wondered if he was fucking the photographer; he certainly hadn’t seen Neil look like that at anyone other than him.

Shutting that thought down, he flipped through glossy pages until he landed on the feature about exy stars. He snorted at himself for pretending he’d bought the magazine for the article, but he still skimmed through the story stubbornly.

The first page of the article had a giant L in the background and showed a couple women in black sports bras and panties. He wasn’t interested in looking at them, but he thought he recognized them as former Trojan players. Dermott and Alvarez, maybe? The facing page was much more interesting to him, showing another two scantily clad ex-Trojans, this time superimposed over a large G. Andrew studied their corded muscle and the skin on display. Jeremy Knox wasn’t bad looking; no wonder Kevin had had such a crush on him for so many years. Jean Moreau was objectively handsome, he supposed, but he’d never been able to forgive the man for his—however unwilling—treatment of Neil during his two week stint at the Nest his freshman year. His chest was littered with scars—they didn’t come close to matching Neil’s, but they spoke of years of violence and abuse.

Andrew flipped the page and froze in surprise. He certainly hadn’t been expecting to see Kevin in this article, posing with his girlfriend and a bisexual flag in the background. Andrew could still practically hear his admonishing lectures about both Andrew and Neil appearing heterosexual to the media. Lectures that had made Andrew want to dress in nothing but booty shorts and a rainbow flag to channel his inner Nicky. He scoffed as he skimmed the accompanying article in which Kevin spoke earnestly about _setting a positive example_ and _being true to himself_.

Andrew rolled his eyes and switched his focus to the opposing page, pleased to see Robin felt comfortable enough in her body to participate. He’d have to contact her soon; they hadn’t spoken for several months and he wanted to hear how she was doing. She was posed with another trans athlete—Andrew didn’t know him, but he was pretty sure he’d played for Penn State a couple years behind Andrew.

Anticipating hummed through him as he turned the page, ready to see Neil in all his glory. And he was glorious. Spread across the centrefold, he was wearing nothing but tight black boxer briefs that supported and accentuated his ass and thighs in all the right places. Andrew stopped pretending to read the article, feasting his eyes on the stretch of Neil’s body instead.

His gaze was half-lidded, seductive, and complemented with a little smirk that Andrew was intimately familiar with. He’d previously put in a lot of effort to wipe that smirk off Neil’s face and replace it with dazed lust.

For once he was thankful for his picture-perfect memory, as flashes of Neil in less-than-composed situations flashed through his mind. Memories of sweaty, golden skin and lust-filled blue eyes assailed him as he slipped a hand past the elastic waistband of his sweatpants.

He should probably be ashamed to be getting off to pictures of his ex—especially since _he_ was the one responsible for the break up—but he was too turned on to care. He shoved his joggers and underwear down just far enough for freedom of movement as he brought himself to hardness.

He paused briefly to lube up his hand before stroking himself with firm, sure movements. He let his eyes fall mostly closed, bringing himself off half with the magazine picture and half with his own memories. He tried to remember the exact taste of Neil’s mouth as he licked into him, the feeling of him clenched around him, the sound of his bitten-off gasps and moans as Andrew took him apart.

With the memories playing through his mind like a film strip, it didn’t take him long before he had to ruck up his t-shirt to avoid dirtying the fabric. He came onto his stomach with a satisfied grunt, pleasure sparking through his body.

He let himself sprawl out languidly for several minutes, before grimacing at the sticky, cool mess on his skin. He cleaned up as well as he could with tissues before getting up and heading to the washroom.

When he returned to his room he left his door propped slightly open, allowing access for the cats. King liked to sleep at the foot of his bed, while Sir usually took his second pillow. He didn’t mind; neither of them ever touched him while he was sleeping and he had a pocket coil mattress so they didn’t disturb him or wake him when they jumped onto the bed.

Neil’s face looked up at him, somewhat accusingly, from where he’d dropped the magazine off the side of the bed. He considered for several moments before picking it off the floor to shove into the drawer of his bedside table. He reasoned that it could prove useful in the future, the next time he was too busy at work to have time for his semi-regular trip to the nearest gay bar for a meaningless hookup.

It didn’t mean anything. Neil was hot; it could have been any attractive celebrity’s mostly naked body Andrew used to get off. He ignored the small voice at the back of his head—the one that sounded like an incredibly irritating combination of Bee and Renee—that asked if that was the case, why _didn’t_ he get off to a random celebrity as opposed to his ex?, but he shut it down ruthlessly.

It had been his decision to leave Neil behind and he didn’t regret it one bit. Sure, sometimes he wondered if they could have made it work, even with Andrew quitting exy, but that was just wishful thinking. He’d saved them both the time and pain of being stuck in a relationship circling the drain; he was sure he’d made the right choice.

He was happy with the life he’d built for himself and he didn’t need a boyfriend to make it complete. He had pets, friends he saw often, and he regularly communicated with his family. He wasn’t lonely.

So if he sometimes wanted to remember the only times in his life that sex hadn’t been completely meaningless, who did it hurt? No one would ever know and he wasn’t likely to ever see Neil again.

Andrew turned off the lamp and settled into his bed, the nightmare from earlier in the night almost completely forgotten. He was sated and bone-weary; it didn’t take long before he fell into a dreamless slumber.


	2. August

> **_From:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Avg hours of sleep: 4_
> 
> _three people called me Doogie Howser in the past week and one person tried to send me away because they wanted an “adult doctor”. am considering growing a beard._
> 
> _RE: groceries. buy some vegetables, you’re going to get scurvy_

Andrew was brought out of his semi-conscious haze of reading witness reports by his computer dinging with a notification. Given that he worked for the government, they used Skype for Business as their in-house messaging system instead of anything useful. He clicked on the glowing orange alert in his task bar and pulled up the new message.

As he expected, it was from Marlena. She was one of the only people who messaged him, since email was still used for anything case or work related and the messaging system was only supposed to be used for quick, informal communications.

_can’t make lunch, getting pulled into a meeting_ , she wrote.

He wasn’t overly fussed or surprised, since she was always extremely busy as one of the ADAs. He turned back to his work, only to be disturbed almost instantly by another notification.

_that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat_ , was the next message.

Then, _eat or I’ll assign you to work with Lewis on the Stevens case_.

Andrew grimaced; that case was a hot potato, passed around with no one wanting to touch it. Also, Lewis smelled like old cheese and Andrew didn’t want to get closer to him than he had to. In resignation, he wrote back that he was headed for lunch, locked his computer, and stretched in his chair until his spine popped.

Despite that Marlena was technically his boss, she was also his friend. His only friend at work, although he counted several of the other lawyers that he didn’t outright hate among his acquaintances. Marlena had been his mentor when he first joined the DA’s office; although she was only seven years older than he was, she had worked her way to the top of the food chain quickly. She was fierce and unapologetic and reminded him vaguely of Dan Wilds, which, as far as he was concerned, wasn’t a point in her favour. Still, she’d somehow wormed her way past his defenses.

He stood and made his way to the small and rather shitty lunchroom, pausing in the doorway when he saw who was present. Montgomery and Sterling were basically interchangeable: brown-haired, blue-eyed trust fund kids who had been a dime a dozen in law school. Andrew was honestly surprised they’d ended up here instead of in obscenely high-paying positions at a defense firm.

Andrew wasn’t sure what their actual given names were; Marlena always referred to them as “Chad One” and “Chad Two” (or “The Chads” when speaking of them collectively) even during staff meetings. She also made multiple cracks about how “Montgomery and Sterling” was a ready-made name for a law firm of rich assholes—probably personal injury lawyers.

The Chads nodded in greeting at Andrew as he stepped into the lunch room. He ignored them as he made his way over to the fridge where he’d stashed his lunch earlier. It was leftovers; he’d tried a new gumbo recipe the past weekend and it reheated nicely.

He shoved his container into the microwave and then waited impatiently, keeping his face completely blank as he stared sightlessly at the wall. God, the microwave in here was the worst. It took forever and standing in slightly awkward silence made each second seem like an eternity.

The Chads returned to their conversation and he tuned them out—or he tried to, anyway. They weren’t speaking quietly and the room was twenty square feet total. He abruptly stopped pretending they couldn’t hear them when one of the Chads mentioned the name Josten.

“It was a smart trade,” nodded the other Chad. “The ‘Cats have got a real chance at the championship this year with him in the lineup.”

“Neil Josten?” demanded Andrew, aiming for casual and missing by a mile if the looks on The Chads’ faces were any indication. Or maybe they were both shocked that he was capable of speech.

“...Yeah?” said the Chad who Andrew thought was Montgomery. “You an exy fan?”

“Neil Josten was traded here?” Andrew clarified, not bothering to answer the question.

“Yup,” answered Sterling. “As of last week, he’s officially a member of the Colorado Wildcats. We’re gonna be top of the league for sure.” He and Montgomery fistbumped.

Andrew could barely think past the ringing in his ears. He stumbled out of the lunch room in a daze, ignoring one of the Chads calling after him, “Dude, you forgot your lunch!” as he blindly made his way back to his desk.

He shared his office with three others, but luckily two of them were in court this week and the third was either at lunch or in a meeting. Therefore, there was no one around to watch him have a meltdown. Before he could succumb, he realized he should probably double check the information to make sure Neil was really _here_ , that he’d invaded the city where Andrew lived contentedly.

He considered his options. He knew Renee and Nicky and Robin were all in contact with Neil, although they all knew better than to mention his name during their own conversations. He could ask one of them, but then they’d think he was affected when he clearly wasn’t. He was calm and collected and absolutely didn’t care that Neil now apparently lived in Denver. Okay, that was obviously a lie, which went against the promise he’d made to stop lying to himself, but it wasn’t like he actually believed it.

He looked at his phone. There was another option, that didn’t involve anyone suspecting how much of a pathetic mess he was. He was still _technically_ a member of a Foxes group chat dating from college. Based on some of Nicky’s offhand comments, he knew that it was still active among the Fox alumni, which almost definitely included Neil. He’d probably discussed his trade there.

Of course, it wasn’t the only thing he would have discussed. Andrew had spent time during his first year away from Palmetto… lurking, he supposed was the best word for it, while appearing offline. It hadn’t been creepy stalking, really, he’d just been so used to protecting Neil that leaving him behind had given Andrew a kind of separation anxiety and he’d wanted to know he was doing okay. He’d kept up the practice until the summer after Neil graduated and apparently started dating someone new. At that point, Andrew had turned off all notifications because while he’d often been self-destructive he was putting effort into getting better.

He didn’t particularly want to open that can of worms again. He was having a hard enough time with the fact that Neil lived in the same city as him; if he had to find out on the same day that Neil was _also_ in a serious relationship, he didn’t think he’d handle it well.

Andrew’s brain suddenly kicked into gear from where it had obviously been stalled. He shook his head at himself, embarrassed by his stupidity. It was easy enough to confirm what The Chads had told him; he had access to the internet. He usually curated his online experience to avoid any references to Neil or to exy, but needs must.

A quick Google search told him what he needed to know: yes, Neil Josten had been traded to Colorado’s exy team. He’d been spotted at the Wildcats’ training camp preparing for pre-season games in September. There was quite a lot of speculation about the timing of the trade; exy had been added as a demonstration sport to next summer’s Olympics in Rio, and Neil, although talented, was unlikely to get enough exposure to the National Court management team by continuing to play on the last place team he’d been on for several years before the trade.

Andrew clicked out of his browser. It didn’t affect him. He wasn’t going to go out of his way to track Neil down and the chance of them running into each other randomly in a city this size was practically unheard of. Now that he knew the truth, he could put the news of Neil’s sudden proximity promptly out of his mind.

Shockingly, vowing to stop thinking about Neil did not actually help Andrew stop thinking about Neil. He spent the rest of the day at work completely distracted. He was pretty sure no one noticed except Greta, the admin assistant he shared with several other associates, but she was discreet and a little frightened of him.

His head was still buzzing as he stopped for take out on his way to the public library branch closest to his apartment. He knew he was too preoccupied to contribute much to that night’s discussion, but he was hoping it might bring him out of his head.

Monday night Book Club was something he’d joined completely by accident. In retrospect, it was a lucky happenstance. During his first semester at law school, the internet in his apartment had suddenly stopped working one Monday evening when he was writing a paper. Despite having avoided the library like the plague for most of his undergrad, he’d made his way to the local library to take advantage of the free wifi.

He’d staked out the most secluded corner, which had ended up working against him when several people showed up to use the table next to his for their book club. He couldn’t help overhearing and he could feel rebuttals building up inside of him. They’d been discussing a book he and Renee had both read a couple years previously and they were completely missing the point.

At that time, he’d been itching for an argument. He’d broken up with Neil months earlier, Renee was somewhere in Central America with Habitat for Humanity, now that Bee was no longer his therapist he tried not to unload on her, and the new therapist he was seeing in Denver wasn’t working out. It had taken him going through three more therapists until he’d found his current one; most of the others were either too lenient, never pushing back against him, or they dismissed what he said without listening to him.

In any case, he had been in need of the satisfaction of an argument—he didn’t even care about winning or defending a topic he agreed with, he just wanted to argue for argument’s sake—and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from interjecting to disagree with the self-important man who really liked to hear himself speak. Everyone else in the group gaped at him, but the tiny, elderly woman who seemed to be in charge eyed him speculatively.

After they’d finished up for the evening she’d approached him. He’d half expected a rebuke, but she’d just given him a penetrating look and nodded once.

“We meet here the first Monday of every month,” she’d told him, speaking with a thick Russian accent.

“I’m not joining you,” he’d replied in Russian, using the opportunity to speak the language he hadn’t had any reason to practice since he’d left Palmetto and Neil.

“Eesh, you speak like a child,” she’d replied in the same language. “No matter; we’ll fix that, too. You may call me Mrs. Popova. Next month we’re reading _A Handmaid’s Tale_.” She turned and started making her way out of the library.

“I’m not coming,” he’d called after her.

She nodded. “If you say so.” She didn’t seem disbelieving, taking his words at face value.

He’d gone back. He wasn’t even sure why, but something in him craved the chance to piss people off by disagreeing with them. He’d kept going back since then, missing some months when he was too swamped with school or work to read whatever book they were discussing—or too tired or apathetic to bother—but the first Monday of most months usually found him in the public library, figuring out what the majority of the other book club members felt about the book and then taking the opposite stance.

Neil once called him naturally antagonistic, which had been hypocritically rich coming from him, but he hadn’t actually been wrong. Coming up with arguments for his court appearances were one of his favourite parts of his job, after all.

After the book discussion, he always stayed around for an extra half hour or so to practice speaking Russion with Mrs. Popova. She was a tiny woman, even shorter than he was, with shrewd dark brown eyes that never missed anything. Andrew was half-convinced that she wasn’t actually human, that she was some sort of hedge witch or a Baba Yaga, or some other supernatural creature that was doing a poor job of disguising herself as normal.

Andrew barely participated in the night’s discussion, his general disinterest in the month’s book hampering him as much as his preoccupied thoughts. He paid little attention to what was going on, until he suddenly found himself alone at the table, with only Mrs. Popova remaining behind.

She peered at him closely. “Ah,” she said, sitting back and crossing her arms. “You are having boy troubles.”

Since he didn’t put mind reading powers beyond her, he didn’t argue.

“This is easy to fix,” she continued. “I will give you my recipe for blini. Make it for him; that’s how I caught my Sergei.”

“He doesn’t like sweets,” said Andrew automatically. He was immediately annoyed at himself for his inability to ignore her goading.

“Bah! You know nothing about anything. Sweets, he says. You can serve blini with savoury toppings also, fool boy. After that, he’ll be yours.”

“I’ll get right on that,” drawled Andrew.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I’m not trying to catch a man. Besides, I already caught this one.”

“And then you let him go,” she said. “Was it because you were foolish or because you were scared?”

That hit a little too close to home. “Fuck you.”

Her face went still and he thought for a second that she was going to smack him. He’d retaliate—he couldn’t help it—which would end badly because he really didn’t want to get arrested for beating up a grandmother in a library.

Instead she just shook her head in disappointment. “Today’s lesson will be how to swear like a true Russian,” she said, and then proceeded to teach him exactly that.

She didn’t bring up his so-called boy troubles again, but before she left she slipped Andrew a piece of paper with a nearly-unintelligible recipe for traditional Russian blini.


	3. September

> **_From:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Sanity level: square root of pi_
> 
> _took lord for a (very slow) amble through the park last week. attempted to teach him fetch. unsuccessful, but will keep you updated._
> 
> _RE: beard. don’t. accidentally grew one while studying for the bar. is not a good look for us._

Andrew stepped out of his car and took a deep breath of clear, cold air. Although it was only the end of September, winter was creeping in and he could smell the coming frost. He exhaled, his breath visible as it spiralled upwards.

The first winter he spent in Denver was a shock to his system. Winters in Columbia were terrible enough, with their infrequent snow and colder temperatures than he’d ever experienced in Oakland. Denver was much worse, with weeks below the freezing mark and large dumps of snow. He was more used to it now that he had acquired a suitable winter wardrobe and invested in a car with heated seats. Still, even for Denver this cold snap was too early in the season. He fully expected a return to normal autumn temperatures in the coming weeks, or else he was going to take his complaints directly to the Weather Gods. Somehow. Maybe a strongly worded letter.

His car wasn’t alone in the King Soopers’ parking lot for once and he glanced appreciatively at the Audi parked in his regular spot as he passed it. Only douchebags drove Audis, but it was still nice to look at.

It had been weeks since his last middle-of-the-night grocery trip and he hadn’t particularly missed them. Although there was a lot to be said for an unencumbered shopping experience, getting a full night’s sleep was infinitely better.

He had a list of new recipes to try and he methodically made his way through the store, stopping to add items to his cart. He was most of the way through his list when he finally caught sight of the other shopper and he stopped dead in his tracks at the familiarity of the man’s figure.

He was wearing dark sweatpants and a bright orange hoodie with a number ten on the back, staring intently at a styrofoam shrink-wrapped package of salmon. His hair was rucked up, flattened on one side as if he’d been sleeping on it.

Andrew’s heart lurched at the sight of Neil. His palms abruptly became clammy as he debated his best course of action.

Neil hadn’t seen him yet; he could abandon his cart, leave the store, and never come back. Or he could go to the check out and pay quietly, without gaining Neil’s attention. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t believe in anything as ephemeral and wishy-washy as fate—things didn’t happen for a reason, they just _happened_ and you often couldn’t control or stop them—but he had to admit that Neil randomly showing up at his preferred grocery store was an opportunity not to be wasted. Plus, he was attempting to be a functional adult. He couldn’t run away forever.

He considered his approach, before taking the easiest option and ramming his cart into the side of Neil’s, making the nearby employee stocking shelves jump in fright at the loud metallic crash. Neil wheeled on him, eyes sparking with anger that drained out of him completely as soon as he took in who he was looking at. His mouth dropped open in shock and he dropped the package he was holding as he abortively reached out to Andrew.

He caught himself and balled his hand into a fist, stuffing it in the pouch of his Palmetto hoodie. “Andrew?” he asked, blinking rapidly as if it was possible Andrew was a mere hallucination.

“Hello, Neil.”

Andrew felt flat-footed under Neil’s piercing gaze, simultaneously wanting to hide from it and bask in it. It had been a long time since he was the centre of Neil’s attention, since he’d had all his considerable focus locked on him. He’d almost forgotten how intense he could be.

They stared at each other for several beats, neither looking away nor breaking the tense silence until Neil started and looked around furtively. He bent to pick up the package he’d dropped.

“Do you—” he started to say, before cutting himself off and trying again, “I didn’t know you lived here.” He stood and jutted his chin out in defiance. “I’m not—” Neil pursed his lips and shook his head. “Is this your grocery store? I can avoid it in the future; it’s just the one closest to where I live isn’t open twenty-four hours.”

“I’m not going to stop you from shopping wherever the hell you want,” said Andrew, rolling his eyes.

“Okay,” said Neil slowly, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You should be sleeping,” Andrew blurted as soon as the thought crossed his mind.

A tiny hint of a smile played at the corner of Neil’s lips. “Hypocrite.”

Andrew inclined his head in agreement.

“How, um, how are you?” asked Neil hesitantly. His fingers twitched restlessly against the plastic of the packaging in his hands.

Andrew gave a vague gesture that ended in a shrug. He didn’t know how to sum up his life for the last five years in painfully awkward smalltalk. He trusted Neil would get it.

He did, if the way he nodded in understanding indicated anything. “Have you been here all along, or did you move after law school? You never told me which offer you accepted.” He didn’t sound accusing, but Andrew picked up a hint of concealed hostility.

“I was here,” said Andrew. He wasn’t sure if he should pretend he hadn’t known Neil had moved to town or not. Probably not; he had no reason to lie. “I’d heard you got traded to the Wildcats last month. Chatty coworkers,” he elaborated in response to Neil’s sharp look.

“Yeah,” Neil nodded. “It was a whirlwind moving from New Orleans, but everything’s more or less settled now.”

“How are you finding Denver?” God, this was _painful_. Stilted catching up wasn’t Andrew’s forte and the fact that it was with Neil somehow made it even worse.

“Cold,” replied Neil reflexively. “But I’ve been assured it’s not usually like this so early in the fall.”

“It’s not,” confirmed Andrew. And now they were talking about the _weather_.

“Otherwise, I don’t know. I haven’t had the time to get to know the area that well yet. I’ll have to poll my teammates for good restaurants.”

“I have a couple suggestions.” Andrew spoke before thinking it through, but it felt right. He knew Neil’s preferences; he could already think of at least four places he’d love and couldn’t wait to see his expression when he tried the homemade pasta at the little hole-in-the-wall Italian place near his apartment that Andrew had wandered into accidentally. “I’ve been here for awhile; I could show you around.”

Neil’s expression was hard to read. He seemed to be weighing Andrew’s words for an extended period of time before nodding. “Okay, that would be great... if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to,” Andrew pointed out. Neil should know that. “I tend to be swamped during the week, so weekends work best for me.”

“My schedule’s pretty erratic, what with practices and away games, but I have some weekends free. I’ll text you?” Neil’s clipped tone indicated he was wrapping things up.

It made Andrew feel a mix of relief—that this horribly awkward encounter would soon be over—and dread—because he couldn’t shake the feeling that he may never see Neil again after this.

“Sure,” he said, taking a step away. “My number’s the same.”

“Mine’s not,” said Neil apologetically. “It got leaked publicly last year and I had to change it. I keep forgetting what it is.” He patted his sweatpants, unsurprisingly not coming up with his phone. “Must have left it at home.”

“As protective of your phone as ever,” said Andrew wryly.

“You know me,” said Neil flippantly, before freezing and darting his eyes to Andrew’s apprehensively.

“I do,” said Andrew, papering over the awkward moment. He pulled his cart back from where he’d wedged it against Neil’s. He gestured behind him. “I should get home; I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Neil, appearing slightly relieved. “I’ll text you. It was good to see you.”

“Same,” replied Andrew, speculating whether Neil actually would text him.

The polite smalltalk made it feel as if there was an ever-widening gulf between them. He wondered if they’d ever stand on the same shore again.

* * *

Andrew called Bee that weekend. Not because of accidentally running into Neil, although that did influence him a little, but because he hadn’t spoken to her in a couple months and he made an effort to call her semi-regularly to catch up.

Over his years at Palmetto, they’d grown close but he hadn’t realized how much she was holding back until she was no longer his therapist. After that, they’d struck up a real friendship and he was finally allowed past the strict division she maintained between her personal life and her professional life.

It had been a revelation; he’d thought he’d known her pretty well and learning she had a whole side to her life he’d never suspected had thrown him for a loop at first. He’d been a little hurt that she’d never shared and a little guilty that he’d never noticed and more than a little grateful that she let him in eventually. She was one of the few people who always supported his decisions and her quiet faith in him ended up being essential to surviving his first year on his own.

At first, Andrew tried to avoid talking about his problems with her. She’d made it clear she wasn’t his therapist anymore; that she needed professional distance from her patients’ problems and therefore couldn’t be objective for friends and family. Besides, he had a new therapist; he didn’t need Bee any longer and it wasn’t fair to burden her.

It wasn’t until he noticed that she was sharing her own problems and concerns with him that he realized that he could still talk about how he was feeling; not to unload on her and listen to her suggestions on how to mitigate the issues in his life as he had before, but to share with a sympathetic listener who would offer commiseration and support. Like to a friend.

Still, he didn’t plan to talk to her about running into Neil. He led the conversation with a summary of what he’d been working on at his job and what book he was currently reading for his book club (she was a big fan of Mrs. Popova and always laughed through Andrew’s stories of how she terrorized everyone around her). Then he’d listened and interjected appropriate comments and questions as she told him about her summer gardening and the start of a new school year. She spoke at length about the gazebo her longtime partner, Audrey, who was a carpenter by trade, was building in their backyard and how they were considering getting married in it now that same-sex marriage was legal—mainly for tax benefits and to ensure that the other would be entitled to their joint home and finances if anything happened to either of them.

“You’d better invite me if you do end up tying the knot,” said Andrew. “I’ll be your ring bearer.” He was lying flat on his back on his couch, with Sir cuddled on his chest and purring loudly.

“You are probably short enough,” she mused. “Book some time off at the end of next August; you should come visit even if we decide not to get married.”

“Will do.”

“Now,” said Bee, completely changing tacks. “Have I shared enough that you’re willing to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Andrew sighed. He should have seen this coming: she’d always been good at reading him, even over the phone. “I ran into Neil,” he admitted.

“I’d heard he’d been traded to Colorado’s exy team, but I didn’t know if you knew.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

“Only if you asked,” she replied, which was fair enough.

He didn’t continue right away and she let him sit in silence, gathering his thoughts. “I’m not sure what he wants,” he eventually came up with.

“What do you want?” she asked in reply. “You should figure that out before you worry about him.”

“I…” Andrew trailed off, unsure. What _did_ he want? He hadn’t let himself hope for anything after he’d heard Neil was in town, hadn’t even let himself think of the possibility that they might reconnect.

Bee waited patiently, humming softly under her breath the way she’d always done when he was taking his time considering something and found silence too oppressive.

“I think I want him in my life again,” he admitted, “but I’m not sure I’m allowed.”

“Why not?”

“I hurt him,” he said simply. “I left him behind.”

“And he might not be willing to forgive you for that,” she summed up. “That’s true. But you don’t control his actions, only your own.”

“I broke up with him for a reason.”

“You did,” she answered placidly.

“Doesn’t that mean I should stay away? Otherwise we could both end up hurt again. Besides, it’s been five years. We’re not the same people we used to be; is it even worth it?”

“Only you can answer that.”

Andrew thought about it and shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “I don’t want to stay away; I miss him,” he told her. “On top of everything else, he was my best friend, the person who knew me best.”

She made a sound of agreement. There was nothing disapproving about it, but Andrew got the distinct impression that she was holding herself back from saying something.

“You think I made a mistake when I dumped him?” he asked, feeling defensive.

“Not exactly,” she said slowly, drawing the words out thoughtfully. “You did what you thought was best.” She paused, clearly considering her next words carefully. “I just sometimes wonder if your reasons had to do with thinking you’re not entitled to have the things you want.”

“It was his ultimatum,” said Andrew gruffly. “He and exy are a package deal. I always knew giving up exy meant giving him up, too.”

They hadn’t discussed it, per se, but Andrew had seen the writing on the wall as soon he’d told Neil he was attending law school instead of going pro. Neil’s look of dismay and subsequent avoidance of the topic had said more than his half-assed congratulations ever could.

Bee hummed noncommittally. “Well maybe now you can see if that’s changed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork in this chapter is by the incredibly talented broship-addict, who you can find on [tumblr](http://broship-addict.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/broship_addict).
> 
> If you like the artwork [reblog it on tumblr](https://broship-addict.tumblr.com/post/631615154679906304/my-piece-for-the-2020-aftgbigbang-if-you-like)


	4. October

> **_From:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Avg hours of sleep: 120 over 80_
> 
> _can’t wait until we gain enough seniority to actually take vacation at the same time. we owe you a visit. kate in particular is looking forward to playing with your turtle._
> 
> _RE: beard. pics or it didn’t happen_

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were pining after a guy,” said Marlena idly, swirling the dregs of her margarita around her glass.

Andrew kept his face forcibly blank as he shoved his phone back in his pocket--still no messages from Neil, even though it had been a little over two weeks since they’d run into each other--but he’d already given himself away. He knew he was checking it too frequently to go unnoticed, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“You are!” exclaimed Marlena, sitting up straighter. “Well this I gotta hear.”

“There’s nothing to hear,” protested Andrew.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” she replied, waving her arms to the others like some kind of air traffic controller.

Julie waved back from the bar where she’d dragged Peter and Alice to help carry their drinks. She led them back to the table, each of them lugging along a differently flavoured pitcher of margaritas. Andrew filled his glass with his favourite strawberry flavour and wished the bartenders were a little more generous with the alcohol. This conversation would be easier if he was significantly more intoxicated. This was the problem with having friends, they wanted to _know_ things about him.

“Andrew’s got a man,” said Marlena triumphantly.

“I don’t,” said Andrew instantly. “Isn’t that the whole point of this?” He gestured lazily around the bar.

Thursday nights at The Arrow had been Julie’s idea. The place was more-or-less queer friendly, but she’d primarily chosen it for its punny name. It was dark and cramped and the floors were sticky but at least their margarita pitchers were half-price on Thursdays. Andrew considered ordering whisky in order to maintain his aesthetic, but he wasn’t looking to impress any of these people. And the margaritas tasted like candy.

He’d met Julie his second year of law school. Shortly after he’d discovered through the Foxes’ group chat that Neil was dating again, he’d come to the conclusion that he had to try to move on as well. He had regular hookups, but truly replacing Neil would require actually connecting with someone on a personal level. The gay bar he frequented (The Cockpit, which was exactly as classy as it sounded) was not an ideal place for getting to know the guys whose dicks he was sucking, so he’d swallowed his discomfort and attended a meeting of the campus LGBTQ club.

It was terrible, full of over-earnest and nosy people whom Andrew never wanted to come into contact with again. The only good part was Julie; he’d met her when she’d gotten into a screaming fight with another woman there (he’d later learned that they’d recently hooked up and Julie had never called the other woman back). Julie had a sharp tongue and she’d laughed off the insult when the other woman had called her a fat slut (both of which were objectively true characteristics, but were hardly polite to point out).

After the fight, Julie had zeroed in on Andrew (in retrospect, probably because he was new and she was wondering if he was interested in sleeping with her) and before long they’d both revealed their general disinterest in romantic relationships. Andrew had quickly learned that Julie’s type was best defined as “people” and she almost never slept with the same person more than once.

Somehow—and Andrew still wasn’t quite sure how—that had led both of them leaving the club meeting with Julie loudly proclaiming they were starting their _own_ club that _wasn’t_ going to be filled with judgmental assholes. Julie dragged along Alice and Peter, both past hookups of hers, to inflate their numbers and instituted Thursday night drinks.

Alice was a lesbian and, like Andrew, had the capacity to be romantically attracted, but only to someone she already had a deep emotional connection with. Andrew had been drawn to her right away; there was something dark in her eyes that reminded him of Renee. She volunteered at an animal shelter and had helped Andrew get his cats, but her day job was as a personal trainer. She was also a black belt in krav maga and taught self-defense lessons. She’d offered Andrew a discount on a gym membership and sparred with him after hours. She always won, but she’d taught Andrew a lot--her technique a lot more professional and polished than either his or Renee’s street fighting.

Peter, on the other hand, was a serial monogamist (although he was tragically heterosexual). He had a never ending series of friends-with-benefits relationships that inevitably ended when the woman he was with wanted more out of their relationship or finally realized she couldn’t change or “fix” him.

Marlena had joined the group last, at Andrew’s invitation. She was technically his boss, but had become his friend. As soon as she told him she believed her rapid advancement at work had to do with being aroace (therefore letting her be married to her work with no distractions), he’d brought her into the group.

Julie rolled her eyes at Andrew’s denial. “We’re not going to call you a bad aro and dump you if you caught feelings,” she said.

“Besides, we all know you had a boyfriend before,” supplied Alice. “It’s unexpected but not unprecedented that you’re crushing on someone else.”

Andrew cleared his throat. “I’m not, actually.” Protests rang out and he silenced them quickly, “It’s the same guy.”

There was a brief silence.

“You’re hooking up with your ex?” asked Peter. “Good for you.”

“I’m not,” said Andrew again. “He just moved to town and I offered to show him around.”

“Which is why you’re glancing at the phone every ten seconds like a lovesick teenager waiting for a text from his crush?” teased Marlena.

“I’m not,” said Andrew, for the third time.

Just then his phone buzzed in his pocket and he whipped it out, slumping in disappointment when it was just an email notification.

There was a fair bit of laughing and teasing at his expense, but it subsisted quickly as the others knew when to stop to avoid either his temper or him shutting down. They began speaking of other things and didn’t mention his preoccupation with his phone again, even though he checked it several more times, not wanting to accidentally miss a message in the noisy bar.

He didn’t get another notification until they were all leaving and he was waiting for his Uber to arrive. Marlena gave him a knowing look as she piled in the backseat of another car with Julie--they lived close to each other, but in the opposite direction from the bar as Andrew--but made no comments, only smirking as he fumbled his phone in his attempt to unlock it.

Finally, finally, it was a text from Neil. _hello, it’s neil. i’m sorry to bother you so late_ , he wrote, oddly formally, _i just got back into town after a road trip and i’m starving. recs?_

 _I’m guessing you’re on a high protein-low carb type diet_ , Andrew responded at once, already having thought this through, _this late your best bet is probably a 24-hour breakfast place, like denny’s. there’s one near the king sooper’s_

He often passed it on his late-night grocery trips. He didn’t know which part of the city Neil was currently living in, but it couldn’t be too far from Andrew’s apartment given they’d run into each other at the grocery store.

 _Sounds good_ , replied Neil. _send me the address?_

Andrew looked up its location on Google Maps and passed it along. He paused, thoughtfully tapping his phone against his bottom lip. Then, feeling mildly drunk and brave, he texted, _I could eat_. He immediately sent a qualifier, in case Neil wanted to be alone. _if that’s okay with you_.

It seemed to take an eternity before the three dots indicating Neil was typing resolved into a message, although it was likely only ten or twenty seconds. _if you want,_ was Neil’s reply, which didn’t resolve Andrew’s uncertainty at all. _I’ll be there in about 20 minutes._

It wasn’t particularly enthusiastic or welcoming but at least it wasn’t outright hostile or barring him from showing up. He tried to discern from the words on his screen whether Neil wanted him there or not before giving it up as a lost cause. He was going. If Neil didn’t want to see him, he’d have to use his words and tell him so.

His Uber driver wasn’t particularly thrilled about the last minute change in destination but Andrew promised him a big tip and a positive rating to shut him up.

He caught sight of Neil as soon as he pushed his way into the restaurant, sitting alone in a booth and frowning at the laminated menu. He looked up at Andrew’s entrance, his face and shoulders relaxing in a seemingly involuntary reaction. He waved Andrew over, watching him with a guarded expression, and turned back to perusing the menu as Andrew slid onto the bench across from him.

“Hey,” said Andrew, picking up his own menu to avoid staring at Neil.

“Hi,” mumbled Neil.

There was a beat and then they both spoke at the same time, followed by another awkward silence.

“You go,” said Andrew.

Neil didn’t make eye contact, biting his lip as he studied the menu as if he might be tested on its contents later. “You didn’t have to come if you were busy,” he said.

“What?” asked Andrew, at a loss. It was almost midnight on a Thursday and he had work in the morning. What could he possibly be busy with, other than sleeping?

Neil gestured at him. “Club clothes,” he said simply. “I didn’t mean to disturb you if you were out hooking up.”

Andrew looked down at himself, acknowledging that yes, he was wearing his _gettin’ laid_ jeans. Not that he only had one pair. Anything tight and black worked fine. “Oh. No. Just out with friends.”

He waited for the crack at his expense, something along the lines of an incredulous, “You have friends?!” but Neil only looked troubled.

“You didn’t have to ditch them for me.”

“I didn’t,” said Andrew. “I was on my way home when you texted and I decided I needed some delicious carbs.”

Neil nodded and they both went back to desperately staring at the menus. Andrew’s mind whirred, wondering what he should say. It had never been like this with Neil before; he couldn’t remember a single awkward silence. Silences, sure. But they’d been restful and comfortable. Andrew had a suspicion that the car ride from Columbia to Palmetto would have been exceedingly awkward if Neil hadn’t escaped out the bathroom window and had instead joined them for the trip the morning after Andrew forcibly drugged him, but he had. So.

A cheerful server approached their table, dropping off a couple glasses of water and paper-wrapped straws, before looking between them expectantly. Neil ordered something called a Protein Power breakfast with a side of fruit and Andrew ordered a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Once she left with their order, they lapsed into silence again.

Neil twisted a paper straw packet nervously. “So…” he finally ventured. “Lawyer, huh?”

“Uh huh,” said Andrew, adding, “I work for the DA,” just as Neil took a sip of his water.

Neil sputtered, choking slightly. He glared at Andrew accusingly. “Really?”

“Yup,” said Andrew, popping the p.

“That’s not what I expected.”

“Honestly, me neither,” admitted Andrew.

Neil shook his head and smiled tentatively. “Tell me about it?”

From there it was somehow easy again. Andrew spoke about his job and how he’d ended up at the DA’s office. Neil listened attentively and was able to read between the lines without Andrew having to spell out why his work was important to him. Neil told him about New Orleans and what it had been like living there, speaking mainly about the food and not about his team.

In fact, Neil didn’t mention exy at all the whole time they were speaking. Andrew didn’t register it as strange until he was brushing his teeth later, well after he checked his watch and startled at the time. They’d been talking for longer than he’d realized.

“I really have to go,” he said reluctantly. He didn’t want to leave the small bubble they found themselves in. “I have work tomorrow.”

“And I have practice,” said Neil, throwing down enough cash on the table to cover both their meals. “You can get it next time,” he said in response to Andrew’s unimpressed glower.

Andrew shrugged, feeling appeased that Neil assumed there would be a next time. He led Neil out into the night, digging his phone out of his pocket to order an Uber.

“You didn’t drive?” Neil asked, looking around the lot.

“I was out drinking,” Andrew reminded him.

Neil’s smirk was sly. “Never stopped you before.” He gestured at Andrew to follow him. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Andrew recognized the Audi from the King Sooper’s parking lot. “S4,” he said approvingly. “Fancier than I expected of you.”

“Wasn’t my choice,” laughed Neil sheepishly. “The guy I was traded for sold me his car and I’m subletting his apartment.”

“Well, good choice anyway,” said Andrew, climbing into the passenger side seat. “You’re going to be thankful for the heated seats and all-wheel drive when it snows.” He settled back against the still-new-smelling leather as it creaked under his weight.

They fell into silence again, except for Andrew’s periodic quiet directions. This time wasn’t awkward; it was comfortable and reminiscent of many nights spent driving aimlessly in the Maserati in darkness only broken by passing street lights.

Neil cleared his throat as he pulled up to the curb by Andrew’s apartment. “We should do this again sometime,” he said.

“I’ll even take you somewhere better than a Denny’s,” said Andrew.

A ghost of a smile touched Neil’s lips as he looked down at his lap. “I’m in town for the next couple weeks and I’m mostly free in the evenings except for game days.”

“Next Friday?” suggested Andrew.

“Works for me,” nodded Neil.

“Come pick me up at seven,” said Andrew. “There’s a seafood place not far from here you’ll love.”

“Sounds good,” said Neil. “Night, Andrew.”

“Goodnight,” echoed Andrew as he got out of the car. “See you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork in this chapter is by the wonderful kysprite, who you can find on [tumblr](http://kysprite.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you like the artwork [reblog it on tumblr](https://kysprite.tumblr.com/post/628914622809899008/its-done-my-pieces-for-this-years)


	5. November

> **_From:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Sanity level: javert_
> 
> _Happy birthday. Can you believe we’re 29? I never thought I’d live this long._
> 
> _RE: playing with my turtle. sorry you can’t satisfy your girlfriend, but I don’t fuck women. also lord’s a tortoise._

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Neil asked, as he tried and failed to shove Pho noodles into his mouth using a spoon. It was disgraceful how bad he was at eating soup.

Since their middle-of-the-night meal at Denny’s, they’d met more-or-less regularly once a week. They’d sampled seafood, the Italian place Andrew loved, Indian, ice cream cake for Andrew’s birthday at the beginning of the month, and now Pho.

“Uh,” said Andrew, torn out of his reverie of watching Neil slurp up noodles. He shook his head to clear it. “No plans. Aaron was supposed to visit, but he couldn’t get the time off.”

“Not doing anything with your friends?” asked Neil, now fishing for noodles in the broth with his chopsticks.

“No,” replied Andrew. He’d spent the previous Thanksgiving with Marlena’s family and that was something not to be repeated. They were nice enough people, just… a lot. There were too many long-held grudges that were brought up and argued over. Loudly. In Spanish. The food was good but he’d much rather be at home alone with his pets. “I’ll probably roast a chicken or something. Are you going anywhere?”

Neil shook his head. “We get the actual day of Thanksgiving off, but not either of the days around it, so I don’t have enough time to go see anyone.”

“You don’t get Friday off?”

“Nah, we have a matinee game. It’s meant to entice families to come and spend money since so many people have a holiday.”

“We could do something, if you have nothing else to do,” Andrew suggested. Casually, like it didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

“That’s why I’m asking, actually,” said Neil. “The team we’re playing that Friday is the Sirens.”

“Kevin’s team?”

“Yeah. He and Thea are arriving a day early and they’re coming over to mine for a diet-approved version of Thanksgiving dinner. Do you want to join us?”

“To spend time with Kevin?” asked Andrew dubiously.

Despite his tone, he was seriously considering the offer. He hadn’t seen Kevin since he’d graduated from college and joined the exy team in Houston. There had been a lot of texts and emails sent by Kevin during Andrew’s final year of college, but those had tapered off around the time he announced his decision not to play professional exy. The fact that prior to their breakup Andrew rarely answered Kevin’s texts and let Neil take care of the communication for both of them hadn’t helped them stay in touch, either.

“You don’t have to,” said Neil, frowning down into his Pho. “I know Kevin’s…Kevin.”

“I was just imagining how he’d react if I showed up for dinner without any warning.”

Neil smiled at him conspiratorially. “If you do come, I’ll have to give him heads up. We don’t want to give him an aneurysm.”

“If he dies, your team will have an advantage.”

“By all means, let’s knock Kevin off, then,” said Neil dryly. “I can’t think of a downside.”

“I’ll come,” Andrew decided. “I have a recipe for maple-glazed beets that should be diet-approved.”

“I’m sure Kevin will be thrilled.”

Andrew shrugged one shoulder. “It’s been a while since I’ve been lectured about squandering my talent.”

Neil’s face turned serious. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

Andrew gave him a flat look. “So you’ve discovered a way to stop Kevin from whining obsessively in the past few years?”

“Yeah,” replied Neil, with a shit-eating grin. “She’s called Thea.”

* * *

Neil lived in a fancy and expensive high rise apartment building downtown. It was close enough to the city’s exy court so Neil could run there, which was likely its main draw.

The scent of caramelized vegetables and roasting poultry assailed Andrew as he stepped into the apartment, carrying his own ovenproof dish ready to be reheated. He gazed around the room curiously as Neil ushered him farther into the apartment. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been this.

Neil’s apartment was on the corner of one of the top floors—not the penthouse, but close enough. It had high ceilings, and was completely open concept. The marble-tiled foyer opened up into a large hardwood living/dining area. A circular staircase led up to a loft-style bedroom that overlooked the rest of the room and the two outer walls were made up of floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the mountains. Everything was shiny and new, but soulless. Andrew couldn’t see anything of Neil in the place, not in the pristine white leather couch or the tasteful, generic artwork on the walls. The only things that didn’t look staged were an easel set up in the far corner, facing away so Andrew couldn’t see the canvas, and the many pictures stuck to the fridge with magnets.

Neil tsked in annoyance. Andrew looked over at him to find him frowning down at his shirt. He had a stain of some kind of red sauce on his blue button down, which fit his personality better than the entirety of the apartment.

“You can reheat that in the second oven,” Neil said, gesturing to the pair of gleaming stainless steel ovens set into the wall between his kitchen cabinets. “I’m going to change my shirt.”

Neil climbed the winding stairs as Andrew crossed the room, giving the kitchen a more thorough once over. It was a little small, but serviceable enough. The sink was filled with dirty dishes from Neil’s cooking and the cooktop had two pots of gently simmering sauces (what looked to be gravy and cranberry sauce) on the back burners. The left front burner was surrounded by a ring of mostly burnt acrid-smelling thick red goop, from where the cranberry sauce had evidently boiled over.

Andrew programmed the oven and put in his dish to heat up and then went back to snooping. The pictures on the fridge were of people Neil cared about. He didn’t recognize all of them—some of them featured the new batch of freshman Foxes during Neil’s last year at Palmetto, and there were some of his professional teammates as well. All the expected faces were there: Dan, Matt, Allison, Renee, Nicky, Kevin, Robin. Even Aaron was in a couple group shots, usually on the outskirts by himself or with Katelyn.

Andrew himself was in a single picture. He recognized it: it had hung on the wall of the Foxhole Court since his sophomore year. It had been taken without his or Neil’s knowledge. They were at a distance from the camera, wearing matching coats and facing each other in front of the large window at Palmetto’s airport. Andrew could remember that day vividly. Neil was still unscarred and Andrew hadn’t known the whole truth about him. That was the day Neil had told him his original name and Andrew had admitted his fear of heights.

“So what do you think of the place?” asked Neil, coming back down the stairs while rolling up the sleeves of his replacement shirt.

“Fancy,” replied Andrew. It was not a compliment.

Neil laughed, not insulted. “It’s not really me, is it?” he asked. “I decided not to put too much effort into personalizing it, since I’m not staying long.”

Andrew’s stomach swooped like he’d accidentally missed a step, even though he was standing still on solid ground. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, keeping his voice dull and uninterested.

Neil shrugged. “I’m not planning on it, but who knows? I only have a one year contract with the Wildcats right now. I’m hoping it’ll work out and they’ll extend it.”

“So you could end up staying for years,” Andrew pointed out.

“Yeah, but not here. As soon as I get a long-term contract I’m buying a house.” Neil looked out the wall of windows, gazing out at the magnificent view of the hazy purple mountains. “Something permanent.”

“You don’t need a house for permanency.”

“I know, but apartments always feel transient to me. Other than times when I randomly squatted in abandoned houses, it was always shitty apartments and motel rooms while on the run. Houses are, I dunno, solid and unchanging. Like my father’s house in Baltimore.” Neil shivered and met Andrew’s eyes. “Like the house in Columbia.”

Andrew understood the sentiment, if not the particulars. He’d been shuffled between many houses when growing up and none of them were even remotely permanent. There was a difference between a house and a home. He’d thought Cass’ house could be that for him, but it wasn’t. He hadn’t had a home until he was with Nicky and Aaron in Columbia.

He was broken out of his musings by the harsh sound of the door buzzer.

“Brace yourself,” warned Neil, walking over to the intercom to let Kevin and Thea up.

“You’re acting like I’ve never met Kevin before,” said Andrew. “As if I didn’t have sole custody of him until you showed up to co-parent.”

Neil rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, simply opening his front door and waiting for the elevator to arrive.

It did before long, Kevin already in the midst of a complaint as the doors slid open. He didn’t pause for breath as he transferred his remarks to Neil, talking about how rude their taxi driver had been, how stupidly cold the city was, and how the altitude gave the Wildcats an unfair advantage at home.

He continued talking incessantly as he took off his coat, barely reacting to Neil’s sarcastic interjections. He didn’t shut up until he took a step into Neil’s apartment and caught sight of Andrew. Then he stopped abruptly, staring at Andrew as if he’d seen a ghost. His left hand rhythmically flexed and clenched into a fist, a nervous tic he’d picked up shortly after it had been broken. Andrew wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

“You’re even shorter than I remember,” said Kevin.

“That’s because he looms large in your memories,” Neil joked.

Kevin turned back to Neil. “Well, _you’re_ just as much of a mouthy shit as always.”

“You saw me last month,” replied Neil. “How much could I change since then?”

“One can always hope,” said Kevin loftily.

“Be nice,” said Thea, swatting at Kevin’s shoulder. She turned to Andrew, “Honestly, I can’t take him anywhere.”

“Why would you want to be seen with him?” asked Andrew rhetorically.

Her answering smile was sharp. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” he replied. He’d always respected her. Anyone who could handle Kevin with such ease deserved it. Plus, Andrew was a fan of the way she was able to calm Kevin’s anxiety.

They moved farther into the apartment, Kevin voicing opinions about everything, as Neil went back to the kitchen to finish up his dinner preparations. Andrew set the table, closely followed by Kevin rearranging the knives and forks into what he called the “proper” locations.

Kevin’s behaviour half made Andrew want to stab him and half made him want to pat him on the head or something. He was clearly addled if he’d missed Kevin in all his pedantic glory.

Neil brought the food out, mostly different vegetable dishes—roasted Brussels sprouts and curried carrots with dates and an apple and pepper salad with balsamic dressing—along with a roasted turkey breast, skin crispy and golden. Andrew’s beets made an appearance, as did a charcuterie board with a selection of meats and cheeses and olives.

“You’re getting better at cooking,” said Kevin, looking approvingly around the table. “Although you’re definitely cheating on your diet.”

“It’s Thanksgiving, Kevin,” said Neil. “It’s basically a given cheat day.”

Kevin shrugged and started helping himself to the food. There wasn’t much communication for several minutes, save for murmurs of “pass me that” or “do you want?”, as they all loaded up their plates and dug in.

“So,” started Kevin, after a few more minutes of appreciative chewing, “have you heard anything from the National Court? With the Olympics coming up this summer, they’re going to be contacting potential players soon.”

Neil gave Kevin a look. “No talking about exy,” he said shortly, spearing a carrot.

Kevin’s resulting expression would be more appropriate if he were a golden retriever who had just been unexpectedly kicked. “But—”

“No, Kevin,” said Neil forcefully.

Andrew paused, surprised by Neil’s vehemence. He’d been expecting the conversation to be completely exy-centric. He’d even looked up Kevin’s team’s stats to find things to bring up specifically to annoy him. He was all set to mention the Sirens goalie’s horrifying GAA.

Kevin and Neil were locked in some kind of nonverbal showdown comprised of glares and facial tics. Thea looked back and forth between them, before laying a hand on Kevin’s elbow.

“We talked about this,” she said.

Kevin shot a glance at Andrew, before looking back to Neil and nodding once. “What are we supposed to talk about, then?”

“I dunno, Kevin. Don’t you have any hobbies?” drawled Neil.

Kevin launched into a litany of extracurricular activities he participated in: woodworking, macrame, knitting. The way he spoke made Andrew think that he’d become interested in learning each of these things, bought all the required equipment and supplies, watched or read how-to guides, and then promptly quit in frustration as soon as he realized he wasn’t competent at any of them. Kevin had never struck him as someone who had enough patience to practice anything to perfection besides exy. Not being instantly perfect at something likely drove him crazy.

Thea, her expression partway between exasperated and amused (which told Andrew his supposition about Kevin’s habits was correct), gently cut him off as he started talking about how next he was going to pick up crochet in order to crochet all the mascots of the professional exy teams.

“Let someone else talk, yes?” she said.

Kevin blinked. “Why? They don’t have hobbies.”

“Excuse you,” said Neil, affronted.

“Running until you bust your legs and letting cigarettes burn down to their filters don’t count,” retorted Kevin.

“I don’t do either of those things anymore,” protested Neil. “I stopped running at night after I was hit by that car—”

“What?” interjected Andrew.

“—and I took up painting instead, remember?” Neil concluded, ignoring Andrew’s perfectly legitimate question and purposefully avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, right, because you finally went to therapy,” said Kevin knowingly.

“What?” repeated Andrew.

Neil continued to pretend he hadn’t heard him. “I also like to cook and when I lived in New Orleans I used to volunteer at an animal shelter where I took their high energy dogs for runs in the park. So there. I do too have hobbies.” He crossed his arms and threw Kevin a challenging look.

“Good for you,” said Thea. “I throw axes.”

“Like… at people?” asked Neil after a brief pause.

She rolled her eyes. “At targets. It’s this whole thing. Archery and axe throwing. It’s good for working out aggression.”

“Cause beating up opponent strikers isn’t enough for you?” asked Neil.

Thea grinned evilly. “I’m going to smear you into the plexiglass tomorrow.”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about exy,” complained Kevin. “Besides, Andrew hasn’t shared his hobbies yet.”

“I, too, enjoy cooking,” said Andrew, as three pairs of eyes swivelled towards him. “And driving. And I’m in a book club.”

Thea asked what book he was reading, which opened up a whole new conversation topic, and somehow they managed to pass the rest of the meal without mentioning exy again.

There was something off about Neil’s insistence that exy not be discussed at all. Andrew had noticed his reticence to speak about the sport in general; he often mentioned his teammates or his schedule, so he wasn’t pretending he didn’t play exy for a living, but he never spoke about the standings or how his team was playing or tactics and practice drills, all of which he used to natter on about interminably to Andrew when they were still in college. Andrew kept expecting him to bring it up—he had opinions about the Wildcats’ goalkeepers and wanted to hear Neil’s thoughts about them—but he changed the topic every time they veered close to talking about it. It was as if he wasn’t willing to share such a major and important part of his life with Andrew. Like Andrew wasn’t allowed in because he’d walked away.

It probably shouldn’t have stung, but it did.

After they’d eaten their fill and cleaned off the table, Neil brought out a board game he’d apparently borrowed from his team captain.

“Grace said it was a cooperative game,” he said, setting the colourful box on the table, “so at least Kevin’s competitiveness will work for us instead of against us.”

“Zombicide,” Andrew read off the lid, letting doubt colour his tone.

“It’s us against the zombies,” said Neil, his eyes shining.

“Don’t leave your teammates behind?” guessed Andrew. “You’ll come back for me—us?” he hastily corrected himself.

“Exactly,” said Neil, an unreadable look on his face. “That plus a lot of zombie murder.” He started to pull the little zombie minifigs out of the box.

The game ended up being a good idea. Kevin, predictably, kept trying to rush on ahead alone and almost died every turn or so, but Andrew and Neil worked well together, killing off wave after wave of zombies. Andrew liked his character and made her duel wield short swords. She reminded him of Renee. He took a picture of his character card and texted it to her, along with Thanksgiving greetings.

After two rounds of the game, it was time for dessert: fruit for the three athletes and a pint of cookie dough ice cream for Andrew. They fell back into companionable conversation until well after the sun went down and it was too dark to see anything but their reflections in the windows.

Kevin and Thea stood to leave and Kevin gave Andrew a speculative glance. “Can I hug you?” he asked.

Andrew, not expecting the question in the least, nodded dumbly. Kevin clasped him briefly and then backed away.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, almost painful in his earnestness. “I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” added Thea.

Andrew glanced to Neil, who was looking on in bemusement, and then back to Kevin. “I won’t,” he promised, feeling touched. He hadn’t thought Kevin would actually care about his absence.

After the door shut behind Kevin and Thea, Andrew turned to Neil. “Hit by a car?” he asked.

“It wasn’t anything; I didn’t even have to take a day off training,” argued Neil. “It’s not important.”

Andrew wanted to refute that, to say that it was important that Neil could have been seriously hurt and Andrew wouldn’t have had any idea, but he buttoned up before he could. He’d given up his right to know things like that when he’d broken up with Neil.

“Can I see your paintings?” he asked instead.

Neil faltered, thrown off by the change in subject when he’d clearly been gearing up for a fight. “Okay,” he said, turning and heading toward the closet next to the washroom.

“They’re not really of anything,” he explained, sounding a little sheepish. “Feelings, mostly? I just throw colours on the canvas and call it day. I usually end up painting when I wake up in the night and can’t get back to sleep.”

“It helps?” asked Andrew.

“Yeah,” said Neil, nodding vigorously. “My mind blanks completely, like when I’m running.” He opened the closet and fished out a couple canvasses. “I just don’t know what to do with them when I’m finished.”

Andrew gave the mostly-vacant walls a pointed look. “You could hang them up,” he suggested.

“Some, sure,” said Neil easily, “but some I’d rather not see again.”

Andrew could understand what he meant. As he’d said, the canvasses were a riot of colours, painted in random splotches. The first few Andrew looked at made him feel vaguely uncomfortable. The lines of red made him think of slicing into his own skin and watching the blood well up. One painting reminded him of the helplessness he’d felt when he realized Neil was missing after the riot in Binghamton. He put that canvas aside quickly.

But there was one—oh. It was painted in dark colours: black and midnight blue and forest green and deep purple. There were lighter horizontal lines, like shooting stars across the darkness. It made Andrew think of driving through dark nights in his car, passing streetlights so fast they blurred together. It was peaceful and serene but at the same time amped up his adrenaline. He could almost smell the gasoline and burning rubber.

“Can I have this?” The words slipped out of his mouth. “If you’re just going to keep it in a closet.”

Neil was visibly taken aback but he agreed readily enough. “I don’t know why you’d want it, but sure,” he said.

Andrew ran his thumb along one of the bright streaks. “It makes me feel,” he said, and paused, trying to come up with the right words. After a few beats, he gave up with a shrug.

Neil seemed to understand anyway. “Then it’s yours,” he said.


	6. December

> **_From:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Avg hours of sleep: 3i_
> 
> _I had a guy come in with a knife sticking out of his thigh cause he’d had an argument with his brother. kinda made me nostalgic._
> 
> _RE: sanity level. there will be no jumping off a bridge because you decided to let the guy you’re chasing get away_

Andrew was in the middle of cleaning Lord’s table tank when his phone signalled three text messages in short order. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and wiped his hands on his ratty tshirt, worn specifically for this task, before unlocking his phone to see what the pseudo-emergency was.

The texts were from Neil. He’d sent pictures of two interchangeable coin purses, decorated with garish beading, followed by a question, _which should I get for renee?_

Andrew hit redial and propped up his phone in a safe location on speakerphone. “Why are you buying Renee something so horribly tacky?” he asked once Neil answered.

“Christmas,” said Neil, sounding miserable. “I have no idea what to get her.”

Andrew hummed in thought. “Go for a scarf,” he said. “Something soft and long and pastel. It’s cold in New York.”

“Ooo, good idea,” said Neil, brightening considerably. “What are you getting her?”

“I am gifting her with my joyful presence,” deadpanned Andrew.

He was also getting her a collection of books he’d read with his book club that he knew she would enjoy and hadn’t read yet.

“You’re off to New York?” asked Neil. “You’re going to spend Christmas with Allison and Renee, not Aaron or Nicky?”

“Aaron and Katelyn are working over the holidays and it’s too expensive to fly to Germany,” explained Andrew, leaning over to clean the far corner of the tank.

“What are you doing?” asked Neil. “Why are you so echoey?”

“Cleaning Lord’s tank,” replied Andrew. “Which reminds me, I’m going to have to find someone to take care of the critters while I’m away.”

Usually Alice did it for him, but she was actually going to visit her family for once. He’d ask Marlena, but she was allergic to cats. He was probably going to have to find an agency or something, but the thought of a stranger having access to his home made him feel like he was covered in ants.

“When are you going?” asked Neil distractedly.

“From the 22nd to the 29th,” replied Andrew.

“I can look after them for you.”

“You’re not going anywhere?”

“Not until the 29th,” said Neil. “We don’t actually get a lot of days off; just Christmas and the next day. I have home games on the 23rd and the 27th, and then we’re off for an extended road trip. At least I’ll be in Philly on the 30th so I can spend New Year’s with Dan and Matt, and I’ll be in both Boston and New York in early January so I’ll get to see Robin and Allison and Renee.”

Andrew’s brow creased at the nervous babble. “Did I ask for your life story?”

Neil chuckled. “Sorry. In any case, I can look after your pets.”

“That would be helpful, thanks,” said Andrew. “I’ll have to have you over to meet them and show you where everything is kept. You free tomorrow?”

“Uh,” said Neil evasively. “No. I have a date.”

Andrew froze. All thoughts seemingly leaked out of his ears as he couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response.

“You know Grace?” said Neil once the silence had stretched on too long.

“Uh huh,” managed Andrew.

Grace was Neil’s teammate and close friend, based on how much he spoke about her. Andrew had assumed there wasn’t anything romantic between them, but he’d apparently been wrong. It left a sinking sensation in his stomach: he knew Neil cared about her a lot and they were both exy fanatics. Andrew couldn’t compete with that.

“She turned traitor and set me up with someone. Apparently she’s joined forces with Dan and Matt in their quest to make sure I don’t die alone. They get all whiny if I don’t go out with someone at least once every six weeks or so. So. Date.”

“You can date me,” blurted Andrew.

The pause was excruciating. “What?” asked Neil, not sounding particularly thrilled.

“I have to go to the holiday party at work next week; you should come with me,” floundered Andrew. “My coworkers are always annoying about me coming alone, so it will kill two birds with one stone.” He winced when he was finished. What was wrong with him? He swore he used to be better at playing it cool.

“Yeah, I don’t think Dan and Matt will be appeased by me pretending to date you,” said Neil dryly. “So that won’t stop their nagging, but I can still go with you as a buffer for your coworkers. What day is it?”

“This Friday. The eighteenth.”

“I have practice in the afternoon, but I’m free in the evening.”

“How about you come over after practice and I’ll show you how to take care of my pets before we go to the party?”

“Okay,” said Neil. “I’ll get Grace to drop me off.”

“See you then,” said Andrew. The call disconnected and Andrew groaned and buried his head in his hands, forgetting for a moment that they were covered in slime.

* * *

“You’ve gotten better at dressing yourself,” said Andrew, greeting Neil at the door of his apartment on Friday. He was dressed completely appropriately for an office non-denominational holiday party, not a hoodie or a pair of sweatpants or bedhead in sight.

He _did_ have snow melting in his curls, drops of water catching the light and sparkling as it had been snowing heavily for most of the day.

“You are aware I have to dress professionally on game days?” Neil asked.

“Still,” said Andrew, gesturing at him. “I’m impressed you know how to dress for this type of event.”

“I am nominally an adult now,” said Neil sarcastically. “And I’ve been exposed to Allison long enough to learn at least something just by osmosis.”

Andrew looked at him critically. “Skype?” he guessed.

“I held the phone in front of my closet and she told me what to wear,” Neil confirmed, removing his winter coat.

Sir took that moment to announce his presence, trotting over to greet Neil by rubbing against his ankles.

Taking Neil’s coat, Andrew assured him, “I have a cat hair roller,” as the bottoms of his pants instantly became covered in hair.

Neil took that to mean that he was free to get as much cat hair on him as he wanted, and he went to his knees on the hardwood to give Sir scritches and coo appreciatively.

“That one’s Sir,” said Andrew. “King’s the one watching you suspiciously from under the sofa and Lord’s in the tank.”

“Uh huh,” said Neil, rubbing Sir’s stomach as he flopped on his side. Sir loved strangers and was a complete whore for their attention. “You named them?”

Andrew suddenly became too busy hanging Neil’s coat in the closet to look at him. “That’s right,” he said.

“Really?” pressed Neil. “The whole aristocracy theme was your idea?”

“Nicky named them,” admitted Andrew, caught in the lie.

“Then what are their real names?” asked Neil.

“I don’t know what you mean,” hedged Andrew.

“Yes you do. Don’t forget that I know Nicky.”

Andrew sighed. “The shameless one on the floor is Sir Fat Cat McCatterson,” he said dully. “The yellow-eyed void under the couch is King Fluffkins.”

“And the turtle?”

“Lord Voldetort,” said Andrew. “And he’s a tortoise.”

Neil stared at him for a moment before breaking into a bright peal of laughter. “Wow,” he said.

“Yup.”

“Is that the first time you’ve said their full names out loud?”

Andrew looked at him askance. “Why would I ever say that nonsense out loud?”

Neil shook his head, chuckling. “You’re the one who let Nicky name your pets.”

“Seemed easier than arguing.”

“Fair enough,” said Neil, climbing back to his feet and ineffectively brushing his pants off. “Show me my duties.”

Andrew showed him where the food and cat litter were kept, and gave instructions on feeding and cleaning. He then went over tortoise care and feeding.

Neil cocked his head and watched Lord sun himself on his favourite rock. “Does he do anything?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Andrew. “Sometimes I take him out of his tank and he bites me.”

Neil gave him a look. “Like master, like pet?”

“I take him for walks in the park when the weather’s nice,” said Andrew. “If I had access to a yard or something I’d make him an outdoor enclosure for the summer months.”

Neil traced a finger along the outside of the tank as Andrew crossed the room to his junk drawer. It took him a few moments of digging before he unearthed his extra keys. “Here,” he said, tossing them over to Neil.

Neil’s eyes widened imperceptibly as he caught them. The knowledge of what giving keys meant to Neil hit Andrew like a tonne of bricks. He hadn’t meant to insinuate anything.

“The smaller one’s for the building,” he said gruffly, ignoring any potential awkwardness.

The expression on Neil’s face was indecipherable. “Easy enough,” he said. “I’ll drop by on the evening of the 23rd.” He cleared his throat. “Time to go to the party?”

“Unfortunately,” grumbled Andrew. He opened his closet to fish out his lint roller and gave it to Neil, putting on his own coat while he was waiting.

The trip down in the elevator was silent, Neil strangely contemplative. Andrew wasn’t sure if it was caused by him giving Neil his house key or something else, so he didn’t know what to say to break him out of it.

He led Neil out to his assigned parking spot, really wishing his place had covered parking as fat snowflakes lazily drifted around them. “This one’s me,” he said, unlocking the car and turning it on to heat up before getting his snow brush to clean it off.

Neil was standing a couple feet away, looking at the car in confusion. “You got rid of the Maserati?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Oh,” said Andrew, stopping in realization. Neil hadn’t had an opportunity to see his car yet; usually either he drove or they went places separately. “I had to sell it. It’s not a great winter car and upkeep was too expensive when I was in law school.”

Neil didn’t say anything but he took a few steps forward and started to brush the snow off the passenger side windows with his gloved hands. Working together, the car was freed from snow cover in no time and it was already nice and warmed up inside.

Neil settled into his pre-heated seat as Andrew pulled out of his parking lot, driving carefully due to the slippery conditions.

Neil waited until they were off the side streets and on the better-plowed main road before he said anything. “Do you always go to your office holiday party?”

“No,” replied Andrew, not wanting to expand. He hadn’t been planning on attending this year either, but the invitation to Neil had come tumbling out of his mouth without his permission. Marlena had teased him mercilessly when he told her he was coming after all.

Neil let it go. “Your coworkers know you’re gay?”

“A few do.”

“It won’t be a problem?”

“I don’t care,” said Andrew. He’d never been one for actually coming out to people, but he’d never been interested in hiding his sexuality, either. If people knew, they knew. It didn’t affect him either way.

That seemed to answer all of Neil’s questions and he subsided, staring out the window and picking at his cuticles in a show of nervousness. Andrew wondered if it was meeting new people or having them think he was on a date with Andrew that was setting him off.

In the few hours since the work day had ended, the party planning committee had transformed the office. The decorations were all tacky, the food looked disappointing (lots of veggies and dip and crackers and cheese—not even fancy cheese, but cubes of cheddar and mozzarella), and there was a two drink limit, but at least it was free. Andrew really wished his brain had come up with a better idea instead of spouting out the invitation to Neil. They could have gone somewhere much less lame.

He got himself and Neil drinks, loaded up a tiny paper plate with as much food as he could without it starting to tip off, and made a quick circuit of the room to greet the coworkers he was minorly friendly with and to introduce Neil. Then he settled in an out-of-the-way corner and balanced his plate on top of his drink in order to have a free hand to eat with.

Neil looked around curiously. “So this is a public sector Christmas party,” he said thoughtfully.

“Non-denominational holiday party,” corrected Andrew.

“Right,” said Neil. “It’s different than ours.”

“Oh?” asked Andrew. “Is it like the winter banquets used to be, but for professionals?”

“Ha, no,” said Neil absently. “It’s a fundraising event. There are a lot of sponsors and a charity auction. Tickets are exorbitantly expensive so only the very rich can attend. Usually at least one drunk person tries to feel me up and acts like they own me.”

Andrew stiffened.

“But this is nice,” continued Neil. “Which one’s your office?”

Andrew threw his now-empty plate into the nearest trash can and led the way to his office. Neil gazed around with interest, peering closely at the bookshelves and cabinets like he was at the zoo and looking at the habitat of some exotic creature. He took a seat in Andrew’s desk chair, spinning around a couple times before fake-typing on the keyboard.

“Look at me, I’m Andrew Minyard: Badass Lawyer,” he said in a pompous voice.

“You’re ridiculous, is what you are,” said Andrew flatly.

Neil grinned over at him for a couple moments before the smile faltered and slid off his face. Before Andrew could ask why, he was up and out of the chair. “More food?” he suggested, brushing past Andrew to leave the room.

They got waylaid on their way to the food by one of Andrew’s bosses, who had a work-related question for him that apparently couldn’t wait. Neil waved off his apology and melted into the crowd as Andrew let himself be dragged into conversation.

It took over half an hour to extract himself and once he did, he immediately looked around for Neil without success. Feeling a little strung out, he retreated into his office to regain a sense of equilibrium.

Marlena, seemingly appearing from nowhere, knocked on his door and pushed it open. “Can I join you, or do you need alone time?” she asked.

“If you bring me alcohol, you can come in,” he bargained.

“Your boyfriend is a big hit,” she said, stepping into the office and closing the door behind her.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Andrew automatically, taking the brandy she’d passed over.

“It’s not surprising, since he’s both pretty and famous,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And polite, too.”

“Well, that’s just not true.”

“I know,” she said. “From what interviews I’ve seen of him, I was expecting sass. But he didn’t even say anything snarky when someone asked him on a date, he just declined magnanimously. It’s disappointing.”

“Wait, what?” said Andrew. “Who the hell asked him on a date? I introduced him as my date; who asks out someone when they’re already on a date?”

“Maybe someone who figures they’ll only get one chance to ask out the hot professional exy player?”

“But he’s _my_ …” Andrew trailed off, unsure of what to call Neil. Friend, he supposed, was actually the closest to the truth, but that didn’t feel like enough. “Nothing,” he concluded lamely.

“Yeah, I can see he means nothing to you,” teased Marlena.

“I never said that,” grumbled Andrew. “It’s just rude to proposition a person when they arrived with someone else.”

“Because you care so much about rudeness?”

“Fuck off,” replied Andrew.

Marlena laughed. “It’s kinda weird seeing you all tied up in knots,” she remarked. “I mean, _I_ know what a disaster you truly are, but you’re generally pretty good at pretending to be unaffected by anything.”

“I’m not—it’s the _principle_ of the thing.”

“Sure it is,” Marlena said magnanimously. “You sure it’s not jealousy?”

“Jealousy is a useless emotion.”

She rolled her eyes at his sidestep. “Then I’m sure it won’t bother you to know that the last I saw of your date, he was happily chatting about exy with one of the Chads. They seemed to be hitting it off.”

Andrew lasted all of three seconds. “Where,” he sighed.

Marlena helpfully pointed the way and at least didn’t laugh at him too openly.

When he found Neil, both Chads were present, and they were discussing the current goaltending situation of the Wildcats. Andrew felt a swift stab of irritation when Montgomery brought up a point and Neil nodded along. _Andrew_ had already observed the goalie’s tendency to cheat right; he’d been saving the thought to discuss with Neil as soon as he got over his aversion to talking about exy with him.

“Your second string backliners should switch sides,” he said, stepping into the little circle made up of Neil and the Chads. “That’ll shore up the left side a bit.”

Montgomery agreed enthusiastically but Neil abruptly tensed, looking as guilty as a kid with his hand in a cookie jar.

“Andrew,” he said. “We were talking about good running trails nearby and we got a little sidetracked.”

“I don’t mind,” said Andrew, but Neil didn’t seem appeased. He resolutely steered the conversation back to non-exy topics and firmly wouldn’t let another exy-related tangent occur. The Chads soon took their leave, and then they were approached by another couple of Andrew’s coworkers before Andrew could ask Neil any questions.

It didn’t take long after that before Andrew was more than ready to bail. Neil noticed almost immediately that he was at the end of his rope and began making their goodbyes, taking the pressure off Andrew completely. He’d forgotten what it was like, having a partner who was able to read his moods. Within ten minutes of Andrew losing his patience for socializing, he was back in his car, without having to say a single word.

“Thank you,” he said to Neil as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Neil seemed to take it as thanks for attending with him. “It wasn’t as bad as you made it out to be,” he said. “Your coworkers seemed nice enough.” He paused briefly. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

Andrew took his eyes off the road in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I really didn’t mean to start talking about exy,” said Neil. “Those guys were just big fans.”

“Why wouldn’t you talk about exy?” wondered Andrew. “It’s literally your job.”

Neil shrugged and looked out the window. “I know you hate it,” he said, picking at his cuticles again. “I know I’m too stupid to be a believable date for you, but I don’t want your coworkers to judge you for it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Andrew.

“What, you’re going to pretend you don’t hate exy now?” returned Neil.

“I don’t hate it, not really,” said Andrew. “It’s never been my end all be all like it’s yours, but that’s beside the point. What do you mean you’re too stupid for me?”

“Well, that’s part of why you ended it, isn’t it?” asked Neil, getting agitated. “You said we didn’t have anything in common anymore. I’m just a dumb jock who can’t shut up and you’re a highly educated lawyer who helps people.”

“You’re not dumb,” said Andrew numbly.

“Just boring and obsessive, then.”

“You’ve never been boring,” replied Andrew. “Is this why you won’t talk about exy to me?”

Neil bit his thumbnail and looked down at his lap. “I made you listen to me talk about it for years in college. You don’t need to put up with that again.”

“Neil,” said Andrew and waited until Neil looked at him. “I like listening to you talk about what interests you. You don’t bore me and you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

Andrew couldn’t parse Neil’s resulting expression; he didn’t like how Neil had somehow learned to hide his emotions from him. He was used to being able to read his minute shifts in expression.

“If you say so,” said Neil.

“I do,” replied Andrew forcefully. “You know I don’t lie.”

“Yes you do,” countered Neil. “But it’s okay; I believe you.” Despite his words, he still didn’t sound completely convinced.


	7. January

> **_From:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Sanity level: eyes emoji_
> 
> _made a new year’s resolution to start cleaning out the coffee pot in the break room when I use it. have already failed to do so three times, so this year’s a wash._
> 
> _RE: nostalgia. I’ll stab you the next time we see each other, will that help?_

Andrew’s trip passed in a blur of colour and activity. Renee showed him all her favourite haunts, the places she’d put down roots in the year and a half since she’d finally settled down in New York. Right after she graduated college, she had travelled the world with organizations such as Habitat for Humanity and the Peace Corps, working to help disadvantaged people. Then she’d transferred her do-gooding to a more domestic locale, in order to finally live with her longtime girlfriend Allison who played for New York’s exy team.

Now she worked for a non-profit that helped homeless and low income teens, providing them opportunities and keeping them out of gangs. Andrew knew working with the kids was often hard for Renee—their stories and attitudes hit too close to home for her—but she found the work necessary and fulfilling, much like he did with his own job.

He and Allison had agreed on a detente back in college for Renee’s sake. They weren’t friends but they were civil to each other. There had been one afternoon during Andrew’s visit when Renee was needed to deal with an urgent situation for one of her kids; Andrew had planned to spend the time reading his email and texting his family or friends, but Allison had simply picked up her likely thousand-dollar purse, made a _Mean Girls_ reference, and bullied him into going shopping.

Allison had good taste in clothing and some kind of supernatural sense for sales. He was able to upgrade and renew his wardrobe at cheaper prices than he was expecting. Allison spent most of the time pretending to be bored, but she chatted away about her plans to launch a fashion line once she retired from exy. She was already working on an activewear set for women—mostly because, direct quote, she wanted to have a goddamn sports bra that fit comfortably and actually stopped the girls from bouncing.

All in all he had a good time visiting them, but was more than ready to go home and leave their (admittedly very comfortable) couch behind. Once back in Denver, he spent a few days lounging around his apartment, trying out a couple new recipes and reading. On New Year’s Eve he Skyped with Nicky and Aaron early in the evening; it was already past midnight in Germany and Nicky was blurry with alcohol. Aaron yawned his way through the call as he’d just returned from a twelve hour shift and Katelyn was on her way out for her own. Andrew then decided to start the New Year off with appropriate self-care and went to bed before midnight in order to get a full night’s sleep.

Early January was cold and blustery and Andrew’s habitual post-holiday doldrums seemed greyer than normal this year. He and Neil hadn’t spoken since the party except for infrequent texts during his road trip. Andrew was looking forward to him returning. It made no sense to feel his absence so keenly; he’d gotten by fine without him for years.

On a Tuesday midway through the month, Andrew was reading over case notes and protecting his laptop from his curious cats. He made a pile of unimportant papers—mostly paid bills—next to him on the couch for Sir to lie on so he’d stop trying to climb into his lap and sleep across the keyboard. He had the Wildcats’ game on for background noise; he wasn’t paying attention unless the goal horn sounded or he heard the announcers say ‘Josten’.

It was their first home game in a couple weeks; Andrew knew the team had returned to the city late the night before. He was hoping Neil would text him either later tonight or tomorrow so they could see each other soon. A new Thai place had opened in his neighbourhood and he wanted to check it out.

A collective groan from the home crowd and pained gasps from the announcers came from the television. “ _That_ looked like it hurt,” said the play-by-play commentator. “Josten’s down and he doesn’t look like he’s getting up any time soon.”

Andrew’s full attention snapped to the screen.

“Losing him would be a big blow to the Wildcats’ season,” said the other commentator. “Especially in the midst of a playoff run.”

The refs finally noticed that Neil was hurt and whistled down the play. The other striker ran over to check on him—the name on the back of her jersey was Park, so she must be Grace—and then frantically signalled the home bench.

Andrew watched with bated breath as the team’s medical staff hurried onto the court, not registering anything the announcers were saying, their words buzzing together. His vision tunnelled, focusing in on Neil’s prone and unmoving form. Replays of the hit were being shown in slow motion and Andrew had to watch helplessly as Neil’s helmeted head bounced off the plexiglass over and over again before he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

It wasn’t the first time Neil had been hurt during a game, although he’d never had a serious injury from exy. It _was_ the first time Andrew had witnessed it and not been directly on hand, though. It occurred to him that nobody would think to contact him with an update about Neil’s condition.

The team’s doctor bundled Neil—who had at least started to move under his own power—onto a stretcher which was carried off the court to thunderous applause. Andrew stood up, catching his laptop at the last second before it fell and placing it on the coffee table. He was antsy, like there was a live wire under his skin. What could he do? Who could he call to find out where Neil was being taken? How fast could he get there?

His increasingly panicked thoughts were cut off by a robotic voice saying, “Equals-equals-equals-equals-equals-equals…” over and over ad finitum.

He stopped short in surprise, shocked out of his spiral by the unexpected voice. It took him a few moments to realize it was coming from his computer. King had walked across the keyboard, somehow managing to turn on the text-to-speech and opening up the system’s search function before settling her furry butt right on the = key and typing a string of them. Her yellow eyes were wide and suspicious as she stared at Andrew, “Equals-equals-equals-equals…” continually repeating out of the tinny speaker.

Andrew shooed her away and opened up his computer’s settings to reset what she’d done; it took him over five minutes and a Google search (as his laptop helpfully repeated each of his keystrokes back to him) to figure out how to turn off the text-to-speech. He had no idea how the hell King had managed to turn it on simply by walking across the keyboard.

The interlude snapped him out of his initial panic about Neil’s injury, but he still ached with worry. He didn’t know what to do and he hated the feeling of uncertainty and helplessness. He snatched up his phone to send Neil a text message: _respond when you get this_. Then he sat down to watch the rest of the game, hoping for an update.

By the time the game ended half an hour later, he hadn’t learned anything new and was reaching new heights of discomfort. If only he was still Neil’s emergency contact, then he’d know what was happening. Huh. That gave him an idea.

He didn’t still have the Boyd-Wilds’ contact numbers in his phone, but he’d known them at one time. He ruminated on it for a couple seconds before their cell numbers popped into his head, numbers coming naturally to him as they always did. If he thought about it, he could still recite all the different phone numbers of his various foster homes he’d been made to memorize throughout his childhood.

Hoping that he hadn’t changed it in the intervening years (the only thing worse than talking on the phone was talking to a stranger on the phone), Andrew dialed Matt’s number since he was the most likely candidate to be Neil’s emergency contact. It wasn’t until his call was answered after four rings by a yawn-interrupted groan that he remembered it was after midnight on the east coast.

“What?” demanded the displeased voice on the other end. At least it was a familiar displeased voice. Andrew had heard Matt’s grumblings upon waking enough times on the team bus to recognize them even years later.

“It’s Andrew,” he said. “Minyard. Andrew Minyard. We played exy together in college?” And this was why he never called people if he could help it.

“Hey, what’s up man?” replied Matt easily, as if they spoke to each other frequently and that it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Andrew to be randomly calling him in the middle of the night.

Andrew envied him his nature. Andrew was many things but easy going was not one of them.

“Who is it?” mumbled a female voice from Matt’s end of the call.

“Andrew,” said Matt, slightly muffled. He, apparently, didn’t feel the need to add all the qualifiers Andrew had.

“Minyard? The fuck’s he calling for?”

“It’s Neil,” said Andrew, to get Matt’s attention back. “He was injured in his game tonight and I was wondering if…” he trailed off. Clearly they didn’t have any more information than he did if they didn’t have a clue why he was calling.

“How bad is it?” asked Matt, sounding instantly alert.

“I don’t know. They carried him off on a stretcher.”

“Damn. I’ll… uh, here.” Quite a few shuffling noises came through the line and then Dan said, “Hey Andrew. We’ve got the number for the Wildcats’ doctor in case of emergencies, so Matt’s going to give him a call.”

The subsequent silence was awkward. Andrew scritched Sir’s chin, to assure him that he wasn’t going crazy and talking to no one. He always got a little weird when Andrew was on the phone, clearly upset about Andrew’s mental state.

“So, uh, Neil tells us you’re a lawyer now,” said Dan hesitantly.

“Mmhm,” replied Andrew.

It was a good sign that Neil was talking about him with Dan and Matt, right? Although he doubted they were his biggest fans, given how protective of Neil they were. Maybe they’d told Neil to stay away from him. Which would possibly be a positive thing, since Neil was the most contrary person on the planet. If his friends had warned him away from spending time with Andrew, he was likely to spend _extra_ time with him, just to spite them.

“I have a question about how we can break our lease,” Dan went on.

“Oh,” said Andrew, not having expected her to actually start a legitimate topic of conversation. “That’s not my specialty, but I did have a class that covered it in school.”

Dan launched into a long winded story about the problems she and Matt were having with their landlord, who sounded like a grade A asshole. Having something else to focus on calmed his nerves. As he listened to her, he wondered if that was her plan.

Before he could offer her any advice, Matt’s booming voice came back, asking for the phone back.

“I’ll send you an email about what you should do and who you should contact,” said Andrew. “I’ll have to look up the differences in Pennsylvanian law.”

“Okay,” said Dan, sounding somewhat surprised. “Thanks, Andrew.”

“I spoke to Jerry,” said Matt, when he got the phone back. Andrew assumed Jerry was the Wildcats’ doctor, not some random friend of Matt’s. “He says it’s not that bad an injury but they had to go to the hospital for x-rays. Neil’s going to be discharged soon, if you want to go pick him up?”

“I—yes,” said Andrew. “Which hospital? I’ll go get him.”

Matt relayed the information as Andrew scooped Sir out of his lap and hurried to put on his boots. He looked critically down at his cat hair-covered sweatpants before shrugging. It was almost eleven on a weeknight and he was going to pick someone up at the hospital. No one was going to judge his sartorial choices.

He thanked Matt and headed down to his car, relieved that he was able to do something productive as opposed to needlessly worrying. The drive to the hospital took him less than fifteen minutes plus another five minutes of circling before he found a parking spot that he didn’t have to pay an arm and a leg for.

Matt had given him specific directions as to which floor and room he could find Neil. There was a man leaning on the wall just outside of Neil’s assigned room, idly flipping through his phone. He was about two decades older than Andrew, with greying hair at his temples, and assessing brown eyes that glanced sharply in Andrew’s direction when he cleared his throat.

“You’re Neil’s ride?” asked the man who must be Jerry, not looking particularly interested. Andrew nodded. “Take him home and make sure he stays off that knee for a couple days.”

“Knee?” asked Andrew. “What about his head?”

“Kid’s head is as hard as concrete,” grunted Jerry, handing over a clear ziploc bag holding a wallet, phone, and keys. Presumably Neil’s, unless he was making Andrew an accessory to theft.

“Sounds about right,” conceded Andrew. He pointed at the door and raised his eyebrows to ask for permission to enter.

“Go ahead,” said Jerry, pushing away from the wall and pocketing his phone. “Tell him to call me tomorrow.”

Andrew entered the room, relieved that he was finally able to assure himself that Neil was mostly unharmed. He was sitting in a narrow hospital bed, staring glumly out the window. It was a private room, of course. Nothing but the best for professional athletes. He looked up expectantly as the door opened, mouth falling open when he saw Andrew.

“Andrew?” he asked. “They called you?”

“Nobody called me,” said Andrew. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” huffed Neil. “ _Fine_ ,” he repeated more forcefully when Andrew raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Nothing’s broken or torn, I just sprained my knee.”

“You hit your head.”

“No signs of concussion,” reported Neil. “Seriously, why are you here? I’m sorry they bothered you; it’s not that big a deal, really.”

“I was watching the game and I saw you go down,” said Andrew, swallowing around the memory-induced lump in his throat. “I wanted to make sure you’re alright. I called Boyd and he called your team doctor.”

“You were watching?” asked Neil, clearly disbelieving.

“I liked the goal you scored in the second quarter. Your footwork’s improved.”

Neil’s face did something strange at Andrew’s words, something similar to the way he used to look at Andrew whenever he shut down the goal. Andrew looked back placidly.

Their silent staring match was cut off by a competent nurse bustling in with a pair of crutches, a paper bag from the pharmacy, and Neil’s discharge papers. Andrew stood back as the two of them went over care instructions, half-listening as he surreptitiously leafed through the medical chart at the end of Neil’s bed memorizing the unfamiliar shorthand so he could get Aaron to explain it later.

The nurse then helped Neil change out of his hospital gown into sweatpants as Andrew averted his gaze. He may have seen Neil completely naked more times than even he could remember clearly but he was still entitled to his privacy now.

Neil laced up his shoes and handed his bag of prescriptions to Andrew. “Drive me back to the court?” he asked.

Andrew gave him a level look. “You’re not going to night practice.”

Neil huffed a laugh. “No, but my car’s there and I need the stuff from my locker.”

Andrew held up the baggie Jerry had given him. “This stuff?” Neil reached for it, but Andrew held it out of his grasp. “I’ll carry it. You focus on hobbling.”

Neil levered himself to his one working leg, taking a few moments to balance on the crutches. Then he clacked out into the hallway, the metal crutches making distinctive _clip-clop_ sounds with every step he took.

“Are you sure you should be driving?” asked Andrew.

“It’s my left knee,” shrugged Neil. “My car’s an automatic.”

“Sacrilege,” shivered Andrew. “Should you even be going to your apartment, for that matter? How are you planning to get up those twisty stairs to your bed?”

Neil paused. “I hadn’t thought of that. Guess I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Come to mine,” said Andrew, without thinking. “I have a spare bed.”

Neil faltered in his clip-clopping, almost tripping onto his face. Andrew gripped his elbow to steady him, thinking the reaction was far too dramatic for the situation.

“I—I’ll be in your way,” stuttered Neil, resuming his lopsided walk. “Just drop me at home; I’ll be fine.”

“Do you even have food in your fridge?” asked Andrew. “You’ve been out of town for weeks.”

“...No,” admitted Neil, very reluctantly. “I was going to do my shopping tomorrow.” He chewed his lip indecisively.

Andrew took pity on him. “Think it over,” he said. “I’ll go get the car. Stay here.”

“I can make it,” said Neil stubbornly.

“It’s icy and you don’t have a coat,” returned Andrew calmly. “For once in your life stop being so stubborn and contrary.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” said Neil grumpily, but he softened his tone with a contrite smile and propped himself against the wall next to the exit instead of insisting on following Andrew outside.

By the time Andrew returned with the car and they together manoeuvred Neil into the passenger seat and his crutches into the back seat, he was quiet and his face was tight with exhaustion and pain.

“Didn’t they give you painkillers?” asked Andrew.

“Yeah, but they’re wearing off,” said Neil.

“And they didn’t give you a prescription for more?” said Andrew sarcastically, eyeing the white bag he’d shoved into the cup holder between the front seats.

“I’ll take it before I sleep,” said Neil. “I don’t like how fuzzy they make me.”

“I remember,” said Andrew, pushing his car’s ignition button. He cleared his throat. “Where to?”

Neil opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Are you sure it’s alright if I stay with you? For a couple days, just until I get this damn brace off.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t,” said Andrew truthfully.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I… It’s what friends do, isn’t it?” asked Andrew feebly. He didn’t think telling Neil he wanted him close to keep an eye on him was a good idea.

“Right,” said Neil, somewhat bitterly. “Friends.”

“Aren’t we?” asked Andrew. He thought they’d regained that, at the very least.

“Course we are,” said Neil. “Don’t mind me, I’m just sore.” He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, wrinkles across his brow giving away the fact that he was in pain. Neither of them said another word until they arrived at Andrew’s apartment.

The elevator ride up was similarly silent. When Andrew opened his door, Sir came doggedly trotting over to investigate and immediately got dangerously underfoot. Andrew scooped him up into his arms, where he instantly began struggling as if he was being kidnapped. King, on the other hand, took one look at the crutches and disappeared into Andrew’s bedroom, running low to the ground as if flattening herself would protect her from the evil metal objects.

Andrew showed Neil the spare room. It wasn’t much to look at: a double bed taking up almost the entire floorspace, with a bookshelf bursting to overflowing against one wall and a measly night table jammed between the opposite wall and the bed.

Neil looked around without really seeming to register anything, so Andrew put his bag of possessions on the night table and retreated to the washroom to scare up an unused toothbrush from his extra toiletry supplies under the sink. He heard Neil’s slow progression following him, turning from unpacking his prescription and placing it next to the sink just as Neil arrived in the doorway.

“Do you mind if I don’t shower tonight?” Neil asked dully. He was starting to droop.

“It doesn’t affect me either way,” replied Andrew.

Neil gestured at himself. “I’m all gross and sweaty. Don’t want to dirty your sheets.”

Andrew’s mind instantly snapped back to past times he and Neil had messed up sheets with sweat and… other substances… and cleared his throat. “Go to sleep,” he said gruffly. “You look dead on your feet. Well, foot.”

Neil gave a hollow bark of laughter and then looked irritated with himself. “You’re not funny,” he insisted.

Andrew decided that he was above arguing that he’d made Neil laugh and retreated to let him use the washroom. He gathered up the loose papers from his couch and coffee table and opened his laptop to shut his work down properly. As he did so, he shot off a quick email to Marlena to inform her he was working from home tomorrow. He enjoyed the flexibility his job sometimes granted him: when he wasn’t in court or in meetings his bosses didn’t mind if he occasionally didn’t come into the office as long as his work still got completed.

He then went into his own room to change into his sleep clothes and to reassure King that he wouldn’t let those terrifying crutches kill her. He waited until Neil clomped back to the spare room and then took his own turn in the washroom and shut off all the lights.

Climbing into bed, he reflected that it shouldn’t feel so momentous to have Neil sleeping under his roof. It shouldn’t affect him at all. Regardless, it took him a long while before he fell asleep, his mind incredibly conscious of Neil lying just on the other side of the wall.

He only got a couple hours of sleep before his obnoxious alarm dragged him awake. He considered shutting it off and rolling back over, but his cats were already marching up and down his comforter and squawking. Besides, he may be working from home, but he did have a lot of work to do. He got up, fed his apparently starving animals (even Lord turned into a drama queen at feeding time), made a giant pot of coffee, and got settled with his laptop on the couch.

It was several hours and cups of coffee (and visits to the washroom) later that Neil awoke, clip-clopping his way out of the spare room and blinking blearily around. Sir was delighted to see him, launching himself off the arm of the couch where he’d been lying at Andrew’s elbow, and rushing over to circle Neil, making little noises that sounded almost like quacking. He really had an abysmal sense of self-preservation. He was lucky he was a strictly indoor cat or else he’d be out in the streets trying to cozy up to cars and motorcycles.

“Breakfast?” asked Neil, carefully avoiding Sir with his crutches.

Andrew glanced over the back of the couch and raised an eyebrow. “If that’s a demand that I serve you, I’ve got bad news for you.”

Neil flushed. “I was just asking if anything’s off limits.”

“Have at it,” said Andrew, sweeping an arm in the direction of his kitchen. “What’s mine is yours.”

“Good to know,” said Neil. “I’ll be taking Sir home with me, then.”

He hopped into the kitchen and proceeded to make an unholy amount of noise. Andrew wondered if he was actually using every single dish at his disposal and possibly cracking them all together to break them into little pieces. He looked up at the whir of a blender—he’d forgotten he owned a blender, where the hell had Neil found it?—before shrugging and turning back to his laptop. He had a feeling that if he let himself go see what Neil was doing he was going to get roped into helping. He was perfectly fine where he was, thank you very much.

After Neil’s interminable and noisy breakfast (and possibly clean up? There had been sloshing water sounds near the end), he hobbled back out into the living room.

“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked, as if it had suddenly struck him that someone with a full time job shouldn’t be at home at eleven in the morning on a Wednesday.

“I’m working from home,” said Andrew, indicating the detritus of paperwork and law books around his position on the couch.

Neil narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I can,” replied Andrew.

“Fair enough,” said Neil. “Grace is going to bring a bag of my stuff by later, but I want to shower before that. Can I borrow something to change into?”

Andrew rolled his shoulders and climbed off the couch, heading into his room to find something for Neil to wear. He’d never admit that he actually put thought into it, picking out his least ratty pair of sweatpants and an old hoodie that he and Neil used to wear interchangeably back in college. Judging by Neil’s expression when he handed it over, he was being hit by the same memories Andrew was.

Neil paused before heading into the washroom, long enough that Andrew couldn’t help but ask, “Do you need help?” He tried to make his tone mocking, but he missed by a mile, as all the times they’d showered together hit him, starting with the first time right after he’d gotten Neil back in Baltimore.

Neil’s resulting glance was disbelieving. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “The brace is soft and removable and I promise I won’t aggravate anything.”

Andrew nodded wordlessly and went back to his work, trying in vain to stop his brain from offering up images of Neil showering. He managed to focus on his work by the time Neil was dried and dressed, keeping his face expressionless. Although Neil had always been good at reading him no matter how still he kept his face, he hoped his X-rated thoughts weren’t being broadcast loud and clear.

Neil settled in Andrew’s recliner, bringing along the pillow from the spare bed to cushion his injured knee. He cracked open a book (a sneaky glance at the cover told Andrew he’d taken it from the bookshelf in the spare room—it was the first in a series he’d told Neil about a couple months ago). They settled into quiet concentration, only the clicking of Andrew’s laptop keys and the occasional turn of a page disturbing the absolute silence.

Grace showed up in the late afternoon, carrying Neil’s familiar duffel bag stuffed full of clothing and other essentials. She was brusque and businesslike as she greeted Andrew when he answered the door, coming in to check up on Neil and to offer him commiseration. Once that was done with, she spent the next few minutes relentlessly mocking him.

Andrew retreated into the kitchen to start his dinner preparations, letting the two of them chat while the batter rose. After about an hour, she made her excuses and left, but not before she sharply instructed Neil to not be an idiot and to let his knee heal.

“I like her,” Andrew decided, as he closed the door behind her.

“You spent her entire visit hiding in the kitchen.”

Andrew shrugged. “She’s your friend. It would be awkward for me to be here.”

“It’s your place,” Neil said.

“Anyway, I liked her opinions.”

Neil shook his head ruefully. “Was it all the insults she lobbed at me?”

“She wasn’t wrong,” Andrew pointed out. He cocked his head in thought, “Although, you’re being less a pain than I expected. You’re actually resting and keeping your weight off it, as instructed.”

Neil coloured slightly and looked away. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“But the Olympics are this year,” said Neil with a self-deprecating smile. “Invitations to the National Court aren’t being issued until after the season ends in May, and I really want to go. So I’ll be good and let this heal properly.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, I learned my lesson my first pro year. I had a nagging ankle injury that almost took me out for my entire second season until Devon literally tied me to my bed.” His gaze was far away, fond with remembrance.

Andrew wondered who Devon was and purposefully didn’t ask.

“Dinner?” he said abruptly.

“Are you offering, or telling me to go make my own?” asked Neil sardonically.

“I’m making my dinner,” said Andrew. “I suppose I could be prevailed upon to make enough for you.”

“Why thank you for your kind condescension,” replied Neil.

Andrew heated up his griddle and formed the pancakes, transferring them to a plate as he completed them. Once he’d used up all the batter, he served them onto plates, piling sour cream and smoked salmon and capers on top. He brought the plates out to the living room to eat there, forgoing his usual rules about always eating at the table to prevent the cats from climbing into his food.

Neil set down his book. “Pancakes?” he asked.

“Blini,” corrected Andrew, feeling himself blushing. “I got the recipe from Mrs. Popova.”

Neil brightened. “Have I told you yet how jealous I am that you found yourself a grandmother?”

“She’s not my grandmother,” protested Andrew, shoving aside his mess of papers to put the plates on the coffee table.

“Why don’t you set up a desk in your spare room, or something?” asked Neil, trying to stop an avalanche of papers fluttering to the floor. “Why do you even _have_ a spare room? The cost for a two bedroom place compared to a one bedroom or bachelor is ridiculous.”

Andrew took his seat on the couch and considered. “I like having somewhere for people to stay when they come to see me. Nicky comes every couple years—he’s coming this Easter—and Aaron and Renee and Robin all visit from time to time. I like having them under my roof when they do.”

Neil looked at him for a couple beats. “Yeah, that tracks with your sheepdog tendencies.”

“Sheepdog,” repeated Andrew flatly.

“Woof,” said Neil with a shit-eating grin.

Andrew decided to take the high road and let it go. “Eat your dinner.”

They ate in silence for a couple bites, before Neil let out an almost pornographic moan. “These are delicious.”

Andrew cleared his throat and nodded at the television, “Wanna watch something?”

Neil went squirrelly. “Sure. You pick.”

“You want to watch exy, don’t you?” Andrew asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, now that you mention it, two of our division rivals are playing each other… but, no. Whatever you want.”

Andrew heaved a put-upon sigh and turned on the television, flipping through the channels until he found the exy pre-game show. Neil gave him a soft look and then settled in to watch, piping up every couple minutes to disagree with what the pundits were saying and to viciously rip their opinions to shreds. Andrew joined in with a comment every now and then, awarding himself imaginary points every time he made Neil laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork in this chapter is by the incredibly talented broship-addict, who you can find on [tumblr](http://broship-addict.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/broship_addict).
> 
> If you like the artwork [reblog it on tumblr](https://broship-addict.tumblr.com/post/631615154679906304/my-piece-for-the-2020-aftgbigbang-if-you-like)


	8. February

> **_From:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Avg hours of sleep: e_
> 
> _I assume that as a lawyer you’re well aware of the questionable legality of copying private medical charts to send to a third party? ...I didn’t know you two were in contact again._
> 
> _RE: emoji. I can’t believe you typed that out instead of just sending an emoji. are you **still** using a flip phone you dinosaur?_

Sunday morning brought knocking on Andrew’s apartment door. He was ready to go, but was trying not to look like he’d been waiting for Neil to show up, so he took his time answering. When he did, he got a heart-shaped box of chocolates shoved into his chest.

“Did you know it’s Valentine’s Day?” asked Neil.

“No,” said Andrew. “Well, yes. But still no.”

He was aware that it was the 14th of February and some distant part of his brain knew that Valentine’s Day fell on February 14th, but he hadn’t consciously put together the two pieces of information, since it was in no way relevant to his life.

He looked down at the chocolates in his hands. “You bought me chocolate?”

“No,” scoffed Neil.

Andrew exaggeratedly looked at Neil then back at the box of chocolates.

“Had a date last night,” said Neil, avoiding eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck. “He gave them to me and I didn’t want to be rude by refusing them.”

“Oh,” said Andrew, wondering what was worse: eating the chocolates or destroying them in a fit of pique. Eating them _would_ be more delicious. He carelessly tossed the box onto his coffee table and opened his closet to get his coat and boots. “How was it?” The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of it.

“My date?” asked Neil in disbelief. “Isn’t it weird for us to talk about that?”

“No,” said Andrew, digging himself in deeper. He really should just shove one of his boots in his mouth and have done with it. “We’re friends. You think you’ll see him again?”

Neil gave him a narrow-eyed look, but shrugged. “It went pretty well, actually. I mean, all the Valentine’s Day trappings were awkward, but he was actually a pretty neat guy. If he asks, I’ll go out with him again.”

“Great,” said Andrew, shutting his closet door with a snap. “Let’s go or we’ll be late.”

Neil had stayed with Andrew for a full week to recover from his injury. It had been strange, having someone else in his apartment, but he hadn’t chafed under Neil’s constant presence. He’d liked it, actually, having someone else there to share food and minor chores with. The evening after Neil had returned to his own apartment had seemed very empty and lonely.

Neil still wasn’t playing full-time with his team yet, showing remarkable and uncharacteristic patience in nursing his injured knee back to full strength. Despite his continued absence from games, he and his agent had been in talks with the Wildcats’ head office and he’d signed a five year extension on his contract. He was happy and relieved, and Andrew found himself unexpectedly giddy when Neil had told him about it.

That had been over two weeks ago now, and Neil hadn’t wasted any time since then. He’d almost immediately contacted a realtor in order to start house hunting and he’d invited Andrew along to give him a second opinion.

He gestured Neil out of his apartment and locked the door behind them. “What are your must-haves?” he asked, to change the subject from Neil waxing poetic about some other guy. “I’m not sure houses come with built-in exy courts.”

“Ha ha,” said Neil sarcastically, heading for the elevator. He paused thoughtfully before pushing the call button. “Although…”

“No.”

Neil’s grin was unrepentant. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt, if I could afford it.”

“Couldn’t you?”

“Probably not,” admitted Neil. “I’m comfortable, but not as rich as my salary means I should be.” He gave Andrew a significant look.

Right, Andrew realized, he still gave the majority of his salary to the yakuza. He knew Neil, Kevin, and Jean Moreau all got a lot of praise for donating so much of their money to “charity”. He also knew it wasn’t something to be discussed.

“So what _are_ you looking for?” he asked again, steering the topic back to where it had started as they left the building.

“I dunno,” Neil shrugged.

“You haven’t given it any thought?” asked Andrew, unlocking his car.

Something had changed in the last month; last fall whenever they went somewhere together they went in Neil’s car. Now, it was assumed that Andrew would be the one driving. He didn’t know why the switch had occurred, but he wasn’t complaining. He liked having Neil in his passenger seat.

“It needs basic house stuff,” said Neil. “You know, like a couple bedrooms and bathrooms and a kitchen. Other than that, what do I even need?”

“Covered parking, for one,” grumbled Andrew, turning his defroster on as high as it would go. Stupid winter.

“If you say so.”

“You seriously haven’t given the realtor a list of what you want?”

“Lucy’s dating Grace; she knows me pretty well,” said Neil. “She said she’d come up with a couple different options based on my price range today and she’ll have more suggestions once she gets an idea of what I like.”

“Makes sense,” admitted Andrew grudgingly. “Where to?”

Neil typed the first address into Google Maps, and read out the instructions. It was in a part of town Andrew hadn’t had a lot of reason to ever frequent, a mainly residential area with large, fenced-in lots. The realtor, Lucy, was waiting for them. She greeted Neil with a quick hug and offered a nod to Andrew, before listing all the benefits of the property.

Andrew hated it. It was too large and the design was stupid. There were too many walls, somehow making the giant space seem cramped. There were also far too many rooms including a living room, a family room, something called a drawing room. On top of all of that, there were five bedrooms and four bathrooms.

Once they walked around the entire house, Neil bit his lip and looked around almost nervously. “What do you think?” he asked.

“What do you think?” echoed Andrew, turning the question back at him. It wasn’t about what he thought. He wasn’t the one who was going to be living here.

“I don’t know,” said Neil dubiously. “It seems like a lot.”

“It’s big,” said Andrew neutrally.

“Yes,” replied Neil and then fell silent.

Lucy looked back and forth between them. “Let’s go to the next house, shall we?”

The next house was even worse, but in different ways. It was in a neighbourhood where the properties were close together, so the side windows looked directly into the house next door. It wasn’t big _enough_ with the kitchen being small and badly laid out, so that the fridge and the dishwasher faced each other, their doors knocking together.

Neil looked like a deer caught in the headlights when Lucy asked for his thoughts, giving Andrew a half-panicked look. “It’s okay?” he tried. “I don’t really like that woman staring at me.”

Andrew turned to see an elderly neighbour watching them closely through her window. She didn’t appear at all ruffled that she’d acquired all of their attention. “Next?” he suggested.

“You’re not saying anything,” said Neil, once they were in the car heading to the third place on Lucy’s list.

“They’re not the worst places I’ve ever seen,” replied Andrew, damning with faint praise.

Neil huffed. “I don’t even know what I should be looking for. I figured I’d know when I saw it.”

“Maybe you will,” said Andrew.

He turned onto a tree-lined street. The lots were a good size; not overly large like the first house, but big enough for some privacy, with hedges separating them. Lucy’s car was already in the driveway of a medium sized red brick split level with an attached garage and a wrap-around front porch. From the outside, it seemed to be the best of the three houses they’d seen.

Andrew’s first favourable impressions held up as he got a look inside as well. The main floor had high ceilings with skylights and south-facing windows that let in lots of light. He could practically see Neil setting up his easel in front of the big bay window in the sunken living room. There was another window on the far wall with a cushioned bench seat, surrounded by built-in bookcases. It was the perfect place for reading and cat naps. On the upper level were two bedrooms, the master one complete with an ensuite bathroom and a giant jacuzzi tub. There was a third, smaller, bedroom downstairs that could easily be converted into a home office.

The kitchen was an absolute miracle; Andrew could fit all the appliances he wanted in it, and it looked out into the back yard, which had a wide deck and a barbecue pit. There was a nice shady spot in the corner of the yard where a habitat for Lord could be constructed and a little mud room off to the side of the door to the garage where the cat litter could go. Neil’s exercise equipment would fit into the finished basement, and there was at least one nearby park with running trails he’d like.

Andrew could easily see them here—his thought processes came to abrupt halt, complete with a record scratch that only he could hear. This house wasn’t for _them_. It was for Neil and for whoever Neil eventually settled down with, probably some idiot muscle-brain with a name like Brad or something. Maybe it would even be the guy from his date last night. Andrew would be invited over sometimes, as Neil’s friend, and then he’d leave, alone.

“What do you think?” asked Neil, startling him out of his reverie.

“It’s for you to decide,” said Andrew.

Neil rolled his eyes. “Why won’t you even tell me what you think of these places?”

“Why can’t you make up your own mind?” Andrew shot back. “You’ve never had a problem being opinionated.”

“I don’t know what I’m looking for!” cried Neil. “I’ve never had a home before.”

Lucy, in all her tact, looked between them and excused herself upstairs to check out the laundry room.

“It’s not that hard to imagine,” said Andrew, his recent daydreams still thick in his head. “Here.” He took a step forward and covered Neil’s eyes with one of his hands. “Stop thinking so hard about a perfect home. Forget all the trappings about the number of bedrooms and bathrooms. Think about this: you’ve just returned home from a hard day of exying.” The corner of Neil’s mouth quirked up. “There’s nothing to do but relax. What do you see?”

Neil was silent; Andrew dropped his hand. They stared wordlessly at each other, Neil’s pupils blown wide open. It was exhilarating to be on the receiving end of Neil’s intense focus. He suddenly noticed how close together they were. It would barely take any effort for their lips to touch.

Neil inhaled and opened his mouth to speak; Andrew cut him off by leaning in to kiss him.

There was a brief moment of indecision before Neil was kissing him back, readily opening up for Andrew to lick into his mouth with a force and desperation that caught even Andrew off guard. It was reminiscent of the early days of their relationship: like they were fighting for their lives and the only oxygen they could breathe came from each other’s lungs.

Andrew crowded against Neil, gripping his hip tightly in one hand and looping his other hand around the back of his neck. The touch to his neck seemed to knock awareness back into Neil; he pulled slightly away and said, “No, stop.”

Andrew snatched his hands away and backed up several steps, attempting in vain to bring his heaving breathing back under control.

The look Neil shot him was tortured. “I can’t,” he said miserably.

“It’s fine,” said Andrew, turning away to get a hold of himself.

It _was_ fine; Neil didn’t owe him anything and he wasn’t about to push him. He was perfectly content remaining his friend; he just had to weather his disappointment.

“I—” started Neil.

“No need to explain,” Andrew interrupted him. He cleared his throat and shook his head to dislodge unwelcome thoughts. “Any opinion about the house?”

“Um,” said Neil, looking around in a daze. “I don’t like the colour this room is painted?”

“Sounds like a deal breaker,” deadpanned Andrew. “We should burn this place to the ground.”

Neil’s resulting smile was wan and forced. “Should we…?” he trailed off, gesturing up the stairs where Lucy had disappeared.

“Go ahead,” Andrew nodded. “I’ll wait in the car.”

He booked it out of the house, trying to seem like he wasn’t rushing, and practically threw himself into the driver’s seat. He gripped the wheel tightly, but didn’t turn on the car, in case he gave into the urge to drive away as fast as possible. He took several deep breaths. _It’s fine_ , he told himself, _you knew this was a possibility._ He hadn’t considered how much Neil’s rejection would hurt, though.

Neil and Lucy came out of the house together; Neil sauntering over to Andrew’s car as Lucy locked up the house and returned the key to the lock box. Neil opened the passenger door and leaned in.

“I can go with Lucy,” he offered. “If you want to leave.”

“Get in,” said Andrew. He’d promised Neil he’d accompany him househunting and so he was going to visit every last house with him, no matter how much he wanted to go home, put on comfy pants, and eat his weight in ice cream.

Neil slid wordlessly into the seat and stared straight ahead, not blinking nearly enough for good optic health. The silence between them was charged as Andrew drove to the final house on their list. He took in nothing about the house: not its size or layout or location. Neil, too, wandered around in a fog, giving even fewer opinions about it than the last three.

“Okay,” said Lucy with false cheer after about ten minutes of them aimlessly circling the interior and avoiding each other. She wasn’t stupid, she could obviously tell that something had happened between them. “That’s it for today. Neil, if you let me know which one was your favourite, and some of the features you liked, I can come up with some more options for you.”

Neil stared at her blankly for so long she clearly started to get nervous. He finally said, “I liked the third one best,” just as she said, “Take your time, you can email me later in the week.”

She paused, then nodded and ushered them out of the house. In his rearview mirror Andrew thought he saw her relax in relief once the two of them were on their way.

“I owe you food,” said Neil without inflection. It had been how he’d bribed Andrew into agreeing to go with him, not that Andrew had needed enticement.

“You don’t have to—”

“I owe you food,” Neil repeated, emphasizing the word ‘owe’.

“Alright,” Andrew gave in. He picked the first place with a drive-thru they came across, wanting to get home as soon as possible. He was certain they’d be able to get past this spat of awkwardness, they just needed the opportunity to distance themselves from the unwanted kiss.

“What do you want?” Andrew asked as he pulled up to the McDonalds’ ordering speaker.

“I don’t…” Neil trailed off. “Anything.”

Andrew ordered a Big Mac meal for himself and a chicken McNugget Happy Meal with apple slices for Neil, since apple slices were possibly the only thing on the menu Neil might eat. What the food lacked in quality it made up for in speed, Neil passing over bills in exchange for their takeout bag before the wait made the atmosphere in the car even more excruciating than it already was.

Andrew resisted the desire to blow through all the stoplights and drive 90 all the way home, something for which he probably deserved some kind of prize. By the time he reached his parking lot, he was pretty sure they’d been in the car for several millennia.

He turned off the car, expecting Neil to jump out and scuttle away. But he didn’t move, instead pulling his apple slices out of the McDonalds bag like they were about to have a picnic in the car. He began eating them rotely, likely not tasting them in the slightest.

“I won’t do it again,” said Andrew, to break the oppressive silence.

That finally seemed to break Neil out of his spiralling thoughts. “I _can’t_ do casual with you,” he rasped. “I thought maybe I could handle it, but I know I’ll end up falling for you again and I don’t think I can get over you a second time.”

Andrew set his face and stared out at his ugly brown apartment building. “How’d you do it the first time?” he asked. “I only ask cause I never managed to get over you completely.”

Neil reeled back against his seat as if he’d been hit. “You can’t say things like that,” he said hotly.

Andrew turned to look at him. “It’s not casual for me.”

“But…” Neil looked lost. “You don’t date, you said.”

“It’s different when it’s you,” said Andrew, feeling like he was flaying himself open and offering Neil his tender insides. “It’s always been different with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me for.”

“Nothing you’re not willing to give,” said Andrew. “We don’t have to change anything.”

“But you want things to change?”

“If you don’t want—”

“No,” Neil cut him off. “I’m asking what _you_ want. Tell me what you want.”

Andrew had to look away from the expression in Neil’s blue eyes, bewildered and tender. He gathered his courage. “I want to try again,” he admitted to his steering wheel.

Neil breathed in sharply.

“We don’t have to,” Andrew said when Neil didn’t respond right away. “But… that’s what I want. To be with you again.”

It still made him feel itchy to reveal his desires out loud, knowing that someone could use them to take advantage of him. He trusted Neil wouldn’t, but it still rankled.

When Neil still didn’t say anything, continuing to look as if a rug had been pulled out from under him, Andrew sighed minutely and said, “Look, just give it some time. Think it over. It’s fine if the answer’s no.” _Fine_ might be stretching it a bit, but there was no need to make himself sound even more needy.

Neil nodded, then shook his head, and blindly reached for the door handle. Andrew snatched the McDonalds’ bag before he could accidentally take it with him, and followed suit in getting out of the car. He half-expected Neil to be flattened by oncoming traffic as he dazedly crossed the street to get to his own parked car. It probably wasn’t a good idea for him to drive right now, but Andrew doubted his suggestion to stay put would be welcome.

He felt scraped raw and bruised as he made his way up to his apartment, wondering how so-called normal people did this multiple times with different partners. What was the draw of offering your heart up to be julienned into tiny ribbons?

He’d just slid his key into the lock when the door to the stairs banged open down the hallway. He started in shock, looking up to see Neil stalking towards him. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was dishevelled, and he was panting from evidently having sprinted up seven flights. His eyes were feverish, but alert, as if he’d suddenly snapped awake.

“Did you run up the stairs?” demanded Andrew, surprise making him irritated. “Your knee’s still healing, idiot.”

“Andrew,” said Neil, coming closer and ignoring him. “Andrew,” he repeated, still not having recovered from his earlier lack of words. “I don’t… I never… I didn’t let myself… I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t know what to say.”

“You can say no,” said Andrew.

Neil opened his mouth before closing it again. “I don’t want to say no.”

“Neil?” Andrew tried not to let himself hope Neil was saying what it seemed like he was saying.

Neil closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. “I’m saying I also want to be with you, alright?” He met Andrew’s gaze. “Let’s try again.”


	9. March

> **_From:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Sanity level: ∞_
> 
> _got discount chocolate, ate out at a decent thai place, got back together with neil, wrapped up three cases (two successfully), read three books_
> 
> _RE: questionable legality. just cause I’m a lawyer doesn’t mean I have to follow the law_

Andrew took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, pulling his fleece blanket tighter around his shoulders. Winter was finally starting to release its icy grip on the city, with the temperature climbing above freezing most days, but nights and evenings were still chilly. Far too cold to be sitting out on his balcony, but he’d given in to his craving for a smoke and he wasn’t going to do it inside among his pets and guests.

The balcony door slid open. Andrew turned as Nicky stepped out into the late March night, pulling his coat over his pyjamas.

“Thought you were asleep,” said Andrew.

“Thought you gave up smoking,” Nicky returned.

Andrew shrugged one shoulder and carefully flicked the ash off his cigarette into the clay plant pot he used as an ashtray. It was true; he had quit smoking, both he and Neil had done so together back in his second last year at PSU. Now he only occasionally smoked when he was drinking and sometimes when he had something on his mind. It wasn’t a habit anymore, precisely, more of a comfort, a safety blanket. Besides, he was missing Thursday night drinks at the Arrow and he deserved to indulge in at least one of his vices.

“I tried sleeping,” said Nicky, crossing his arms on the balcony railing and looking out over the lights of the city, “but I’m too wired after travelling. Erik’s out like a light.”

Andrew hummed, so Nicky would know he didn’t need solitude and wasn’t ignoring him. He assumed Nicky would take the opening to talk to his heart’s content. He was clearly a little wound up and stressed, and Andrew wasn’t sure if it was just travelling that was getting to him or the fact that it was Easter which used to be a big event for his family when growing up. This year, he and Erik had come to visit; they were staying with Andrew until Easter Monday, at which point they were heading to Chicago for four days to visit Aaron and Katelyn.

The silence stretched for a couple minutes as Nicky visibly wrestled with something.

“Did I tell you that we’re looking into having kids?” he finally blurted, tension entering his frame as if he was preparing for a blow.

“That’s good,” said Andrew noncommittally.

“I don’t know,” said Nicky slowly. “Erik really wants them and I know he’ll be a great father… but what do I know about raising kids? With my parents for role models, I’m sure I’ll screw it all up.”

“At least you know what not to do,” offered Andrew.

Nicky laughed hollowly. “Yeah, awesome.” He sighed and collapsed dramatically into the balcony’s other plastic chair. “We’ve been looking into adoption, but gay marriage isn’t recognized, although it’s looking like it might be legalized soon. We can foster, but aren’t allowed to adopt. Then there’s surrogacy, but it’s really expensive and I was kinda hoping our savings could go into, you know, actually providing for our kids.” He rolled his head back, cracking the joints in his neck. “But at least that way they’ll be related by blood to at least one of us.”

“Blood isn’t family,” Andrew said. “You aren’t my family because Tilda and Luther popped out of the same birth canal.”

“Gross, Andrew!” interjected Nicky.

Andrew continued undaunted, “You’re my family because you gave me a place to be safe and stuck with me.”

Nicky sniffled, his eyes suspiciously bright and shining.

“You should look into fostering older kids,” said Andrew, looking away from his cousin’s emotion. “You already know you’re good at providing a stable environment for damaged teenagers.” He ground out his cigarette. “Besides, after dealing with me and Aaron for so long you know you can handle whatever shit those tiny delinquents throw at you.”

Nicky laughed wetly and shook his head. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

“How could you? You were little more than a kid yourself,” said Andrew. “All I needed at the time was a room with a door that locked.”

“I think you needed a little more than that,” said Nicky wryly.

“We turned out fine,” huffed Andrew.

“You really did, didn’t you?” said Nicky in a tone full of wonder. “Although that’s more your doing than mine.”

“You gave us the support and stability we needed to deal with our respective traumas.”

Nicky squirmed. “Stop being nice; you’re giving me hives,” he joked, before turning earnest again. “You _are_ doing well, you know. You even patched things up with Neil.”

“Uh huh,” said Andrew, getting to his feet to go back inside. He might be more open with Nicky now but there was no way he was going to discuss his relationship with him.

Nicky stood as well. “So why are you out here brooding?” he asked, sliding open the door and stepping back into the warmth of the apartment. “You should be all happy and sexed up. Plus, he’s got a five year contract now, so you won’t even have to dump him again any time soon.”

A throat cleared across the room, where Neil was hanging his coat in the closet. He was watching them with an inscrutable look on his face.

Nicky froze for an instant before practically screeching Neil’s name and throwing himself at him for a welcoming hug. Neil allowed it and hugged back enthusiastically, looking amused at Nicky’s Nickyness.

Nicky was chattering a mile a minute, talking about how happy he was to see Neil, how thrilled he was that Neil and Andrew were back together, how good Neil looked, etc. “Andrew didn’t say you were coming over!” he ended with.

“I wasn’t sure I could,” said Neil. “My old team is in town for a game and I went out for drinks with some of my ex-teammates.”

“You’re here earlier than I expected,” noted Andrew.

Neil shrugged. “They have an early flight tomorrow and for some reason didn’t want to be completely hung over for it.” He didn’t quite meet Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew's throat felt like he’d accidentally swallowed a peach pit. Neil had obviously heard what Nicky said and was having a reaction he didn’t want to share. They hadn’t yet had a talk about their break up; Andrew knew it was something they had to discuss sooner or later, but he hadn’t felt the need to wander into that minefield quite yet.

Things between them had been going well for the six weeks since Valentine’s day. They didn’t actually see each other more often than they had previously—Neil had road trips and evening games while Andrew spent most of his daylight hours at work—but they texted more now. Neil had even come by the office a couple times to eat lunch with Andrew, either on his way from a morning practice or to an afternoon practice. He’d also passed a few lazy evenings at Andrew’s place and spent the night in his bed.

But there was still a barrier between them. It was transparent like plexiglass; Andrew only became aware of it when he ran into it face-first. They hadn’t gone any further than kissing since reuniting. That wasn’t completely abnormal for Neil—his sex drive came and went and Andrew had noticed back in Palmetto that it often fizzled out when he was especially distracted with something. Since the Wildcats were currently wrapping up their season and heading into the postseason, that could very well be the explanation for Neil’s lack of desire.

It definitely wasn’t that Neil wasn’t physically attracted to him anymore. He’d considered that as the cause, since he now had a desk job and wasn’t as buff as he’d been in college. He had more of a pudge over his belt than he liked and his arms and shoulders had lost a lot of their definition. That fear had been put to rest when he caught Neil unsubtly checking him out more than once when he dressed in his work suits.

There had also been the night when Andrew had paced the living room, practicing his opening remarks for his last time in court. About halfway through, he’d looked up to see Neil watching him with dilated pupils and a slightly dazed expression. Neil used to look at him like that when he shut down the goal; it was nice to know that Neil’s competency kink extended beyond exy-related talent.

However, it could be that Neil didn’t trust or feel as strongly about Andrew as he had previously. Andrew didn’t think that Neil would withhold sex as a punishment for breaking up with him, but he also didn’t believe he was completely forgiven, either. Regardless, Neil turned avoidant whenever Andrew even obliquely raised the subject of their break up and he didn’t want to press the issue against Neil’s will.

He wasn’t sure exactly what to do. Bluntness had served him well in the past with Neil (that was the only explanation for how, “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you,” had actually worked as a pick up line), but he was worried Neil might tell him something he didn’t want to hear.

Nicky looked back and forth between Andrew and Neil, seemingly picking up on the charged atmosphere. “Well, it’s great you’re here,” he told Neil. “Although four people sharing one bathroom?” He grimaced theatrically.

“It’ll be like in college,” said Neil.

“Ah, yes, just what I’ve been missing,” said Nicky. “Four smelly athletes all shoved into a cramped room together.”

“Bigger beds now, at least,” said Andrew.

“And I’ll only be here tonight,” said Neil.

“Aww,” whined Nicky. “You’re leaving us?”

“I’ve got a game on Saturday, but I’ll spend all day tomorrow with you,” said Neil. “We’re going to Estes park, right?” he checked with Andrew.

Andrew nodded. It wasn’t really his thing, being outside, especially in the cold, but the forecast was sunny for the following day and Nicky and Erik were outdoorsy-type people. They’d love it. So would Neil, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to visit since he’d moved to Denver.

“And Sunday?” asked Nicky. “Andrew said he’s gonna roast a leg of lamb.”

“Do you and Erik want to go to Easter service in the morning?” asked Andrew. He had no interest in attending church ever, but he’d looked up which nearby churches would be welcoming if Nicky and Erik wanted to attend service.

Nicky looked touched that Andrew had thought of it. “Probably; I’ll talk to Erik.” He yawned, obviously and fakely. “Nightcap?” he asked.

Andrew rolled his eyes, but went to the kitchen to pour himself and Nicky a couple fingers of scotch. He shook the bottle in offering to Neil, but he declined by wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“I’ve had enough to drink already,” he said.

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

“Pre-birthday shots,” Neil shrugged. “They insisted.”

“Oh, that’s right!” cried Nicky. “It’s next week! Any plaaaaaaaans?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I have an away game in Vancouver that day, so nothing that you’re insinuating.”

“You hungry?” asked Andrew, recapturing Neil’s attention as he poured their drinks. “I have leftovers I can heat up for you.”

“I ate,” replied Neil. “Mostly jalapeno poppers, but still.”

“You told me you couldn’t try the fettuccine alfredo I made last week because it wasn’t part of your diet.”

“Devon’s a bad influence.”

“How is he?” asked Andrew, turning away to cap the bottle of scotch.

He knew now that Devon was Neil’s teammate and closest friend when he’d lived in New Orleans, and that he was happily married. Somehow, that didn’t mean Andrew liked hearing about him any more than when he hadn’t known who he was. He didn’t like thinking of any of the friends Neil made when they were apart, hypocritically jealous of people who had been able to spend time with Neil when he wasn’t there.

“His wife’s pregnant again,” huffed Neil. He took a seat on the couch and beckoned for Nicky to join him. “What’s new with you?”

“Forget about me, I hear you bought a house!” enthused Nicky, bouncing onto the couch before reaching up to take the proffered drink from Andrew.

“Yeah,” said Neil, his eyes flicking to Andrew. He’d ended up buying the house that had been the site of their Valentine’s Day kiss, completely without any further input from Andrew. “The closing date is in May.”

“Tell me all about it,” said Nicky.

Andrew settled in the recliner and draped his fleece blanket over himself. He kept silent as Neil and Nicky chatted amicably, catching up.

It wasn’t long before Nicky’s words started turning syrupy and slow and he was yawning for real. “Well, I’m beat. I’m gonna try to get a couple hours of shut eye before my internal alarm wakes me up.” He hugged Neil again. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He waved sleepily and disappeared back into the spare room.

“Think I’ll head to bed, too,” said Neil. “They’re going to be awake and clattering around early and you know neither of us will sleep through it.”

“Mhm,” agreed Andrew, folding up the blanket from his lap and tossing it on the back of the couch.

Neil passed by his chair, stopping to drop a kiss on the top of his head. “Hi,” he said. “Good day?” Andrew tilted his face up for a proper kiss.

“It was alright,” allowed Andrew. “Nice to see Nicky, although I always forget how very Nicky he can be in person.”

Neil chuckled, low in his throat. “He is that. You taste like smoke.”

“Sorry,” said Andrew, unrepentantly.

“I didn’t say I minded,” Neil said, heading into Andrew’s bedroom. He didn’t stay over often enough to have his own drawer, but he did have pyjama pants and a change of clothes mixed in with Andrew’s stuff.

They took turns using the washroom and then climbed into bed, leaving the door slightly cracked for Sir. Andrew shifted positions a couple times, trying to get comfortable, but Neil just lay stock still on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“What,” said Andrew.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” replied Neil, but he didn’t sound convincing and he didn’t move.

“Uh huh,” said Andrew, but let it go. He knew Neil was stubborn enough that he wouldn’t say what was on his mind until he was good and ready to. Besides, this behaviour wasn’t completely alien. Neil had often waited to bring up heavy topics until they were alone in the dark.

Despite expecting Neil to say something at any minute, Andrew had almost drifted off into slumber when Neil finally spoke, “Was Nicky right?”

Andrew snorted awake, flinching as Neil’s words pulled him into full consciousness.

“If I get traded, are you done with this?” Neil flicked a hand between them, as if Andrew might not know what he was referring to.

Andrew blinked rapidly, trying to get his sleepy brain to produce coherent thoughts. “You just signed a contract.”

“I can still get traded,” said Neil, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I start playing poorly or I don’t mesh well with new teammates or management decides my salary is too much of a cap hit, I might be traded. And if that happens, I need to know you if you’re going to unilaterally decide to dump me again.”

Andrew took a deep breath. “Depending on where you go,” he said slowly, “I might have to retake the bar. I’ll definitely need to find a new job.”

Neil curled into himself.

“So it might take me awhile before I can follow you,” summed up Andrew.

Neil rolled over to face him. “You’d follow me?” he asked, sounding shy and wounded.

“If you get traded to a team in a state that doesn’t have a reciprocity agreement with Colorado, it’ll take me longer,” said Andrew. “And if it’s just a season-ending trade for the playoffs, I’d rather wait until you figured out your next full time team, but yes. Of course I will.”

“But you love it here,” whispered Neil. “You’ve built a life here.”

“I have, and I don’t want to leave,” said Andrew. “But obviously I’ll go wherever you are. I can be a lawyer anywhere. We can handle long distance for a couple months, but I don’t want to do it long term.”

Neil leaned in and kissed him hard, stealing the breath from his lungs.

“I don’t relish shoving the cats into cages and transferring them and Lord across state lines, so I’d prefer if you remain here, of course,” said Andrew.

“Of course.” Neil huffed a laugh and rolled away, offering up his back as the little spoon.

Andrew shoved one arm under their pillows and wrapped the other around Neil, slipping his hand under his t-shirt to splay against his bare abs. He slotted his knees against Neil’s and felt himself relax into their usual sleeping position.

Neil shivered at the skin-to-skin contact. “Why,” he asked, barely audibly.

“I let you go once without a fight,” mumbled Andrew into the short hairs at the back of Neil’s neck. He was glad for the darkness; he’d never be able to admit this under Neil’s knowing gaze. “I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”


	10. April

> **_From:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Avg hours of sleep: -13_
> 
> _nicky says you took him hiking. outside. have you been body snatched? quick, tell me something only the real andrew would know._
> 
> _RE: dating neil again. I see you tried to slip that in without me noticing_

It shouldn’t have taken Andrew by surprise. It had been building for the past week or so, but he’d ignored the signs, rationalizing them away as exhaustion. He _was_ exhausted from work, but that wasn’t the reason he found himself staring blankly at the wall of his bedroom in the dishwater-grey dawn light. It wasn’t simple exhaustion that had caused a blanket of numbness to settle over him and weigh him down so much that he couldn’t imagine dragging himself out of bed.

It made no sense. Depressive episodes had become few and far between due to his newest medication and he was more content than he’d been in ages, perhaps ever. He had broken down some of the barriers that existed between him and Neil, he’d seen Nicky, Kevin, and Robin in person in the last month (the latter two having brief visits when their teams were in town playing Neil’s—too short of a visit in Robin’s case and too long in Kevin’s), he’d won his first trial as lead prosecutor, and he’d pissed off the insufferable douchebag in book club enough that he’d stopped attending. He’d even introduced Neil to his Thursday night aro friends and been properly introduced to Neil’s friend Grace and a few other of his teammates. Everything was going swimmingly.

But over the past week, he’d found himself lethargic, not wanting to do any of his usual downtime activities, no cooking or reading or even watching television. Neil had been away most of the week because the first round of playoffs had begun and he had two away games, but even if he’d been in town Andrew probably wouldn’t have wanted to see him. It all culminated on a Sunday morning when Andrew couldn’t make himself get up to feed his expectant cats.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand. He watched the screen light up as a message came in, but his arms were too heavy to reach for it. He didn’t care who was trying to contact him anyway. He shut his eyes and let himself drift.

Based on the angle of light on the wall, it was later in the morning the next time he opened his eyes. Someone was knocking on his door, he didn’t know who. Okay, that was a lie. He was aware it was Neil. He was supposed to go furniture shopping with him today, as he needed stuff to fill up his big, empty house when he moved in a couple months. Plus, he needed to be distracted from thinking about how his team was one game away from winning their best-of-seven series and moving on to the next round of the playoffs.

The knocking stopped after a minute and then keys turned in the lock. Neil had tried to return Andrew’s keys after Christmas, but first he’d been staying in Andrew’s apartment after his injury and then Andrew didn’t see a point in getting them back, so he’d kept them.

“Andrew?” he called, his tone tinged with worry. Sir answered his call by squawking insistently at him.

Andrew’s bedroom door was pushed open. “Andrew?” asked Neil again, crossing the floor.

“‘M alive,” muttered Andrew.

Neil crouched down next to the bed, eyes full of concern. Andrew couldn’t look at him for long.

“Bad day?” said Neil, but he wasn’t really asking. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Andrew like this. He nodded once to himself and got to his feet, leaving Andrew alone to stare at the wall again.

He could hear Neil moving around the apartment, talking to the cats and to Lord as he got their food ready. Usually Andrew was able to get up and care for them, even in this state, but knowing that Neil would eventually show up had taken away the tiny bit of guilt he was capable of feeling.

Neil came back before long, carrying a tray. He’d piled several bottles of water, a few individual cups of applesauce, a sleeve of saltines, and a bowl of plain oatmeal on it. Andrew blinked slowly at the spread. Evidently Neil had remembered his inability to stomach anything with flavour when he felt like this.

“Missing anything?” Neil asked.

“Medication,” Andrew managed to grit out, after a long pause.

Last time he’d stopped taking it and hadn’t noticed until he started suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Besides, taking his mood stabilizer might help him recover from this funk sooner. Not that it seemed like he’d ever feel anything ever again. _This has happened many times before_ , he reminded himself. _You’ve always gotten through it_.

It took supreme effort, but Andrew managed to hoist himself into a half-seated position by the time Neil returned with his pills. He choked down a couple mouthfuls of oatmeal and drank a couple swallows of water to wash down his meds. Then he collapsed back down onto his pillow, feeling as worn out as if he’d climbed the seven flights of stairs to his apartment.

“Do you want me to go?” asked Neil, not sounding fussed either way. He wouldn’t take it personally if Andrew told him he wanted to be alone.

“You’re supposed to go shopping,” mumbled Andrew.

“That doesn’t matter. Stay or go?” repeated Neil.

“Stay,” whispered Andrew.

Neil paradoxically immediately left the room, making Andrew wonder if he’d said the opposite of what he’d meant to, but he returned shortly, having changed from jeans into pyjama pants and retrieved a book and two pillows from the spare room. He propped the pillows up against Andrew’s footboard and sat back against them, keeping to his side of the bed and not crowding Andrew at all.

Andrew closed his eyes again, listening to Neil’s steady breathing and remembering that he wasn’t alone.

That was how they spent the entire day, Andrew mostly sleeping or staring listlessly. He ate a little more in the afternoon, forcing it down despite his throat working against him. Neil read quietly, periodically getting up for snacks and trips to the washroom. Sir spent most of his day on Andrew’s second pillow, sleeping beside his head and purring.

After Neil returned from one of his trips out of the room, Andrew reached out and wrapped his hand around Neil’s ankle, squeezing tightly enough that he could pretend it was Neil’s pulse he could feel in his thumb. Neil glanced at him, but didn’t protest.

Neil eventually finished his book, setting it gently beside him on the bed. “You gonna let go of me so I can get another book?”

“No,” replied Andrew.

Neil accepted that as easily as he’d accepted any refusal by Andrew. He slid a little further down the bed, stretching his arms out but not moving his ankle out of Andrew’s grip.

“You always said you’d never take medication again,” he remarked idly, looking up at the ceiling.

“Argued against it,” replied Andrew. “But it helps.”

“That’s good.” Neil crossed his hands behind his head and started humming, a pointless, meandering tune that Andrew didn’t know.

“Talk to me,” asked Andrew.

“About anything in particular, or should I just wing it?” said Neil. “Cause I’ll warn you right now that if you don’t give me a topic I’m about to talk nonstop about the Tornadoes’ defensive patterns.”

Listening to Neil talk about exy strategy would probably help turn his thoughts off, but he shouldn’t fuel Neil’s exy-related anxiety. He fished around for something, pushing aside the fog in his brain. “When Robin was here she said something about a fountain prank,” he settled on. “Tell me.”

Neil launched into a very Neilesque story—stopping and starting at random intervals, interrupting himself, branching into tangents that trailed off into nothing—about his last year at Palmetto. Andrew wasn’t listening particularly closely, but it seemed to have to do with the football team being sexist jerks and Neil somehow getting them put on probation by tricking them into swimming in the fountain in the quad. Or maybe destroying it; honestly, the story did not make a lot of sense.

“That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said,” Andrew told him when he’d finished. Then he remembered who he was speaking to. “Top five, at least.”

Neil laughed shamelessly. “Yeah, it is a tad bit unbelievable. You should have seen the look on Wymack’s face when he found out about it. You know, the _every single grey hair on my head is because of you and you alone_ look?”

“Did he make you run a marathon,” guessed Andrew.

“Well, no, actually. I’d already run a marathon earlier that month and he was all concerned about overexerting myself.” Neil trailed off, his expression pinched. “I wasn’t in a great place that fall, so I think he was relieved I was actually engaging with something again.”

Neil had so far skirted the topic of his last year at Palmetto, but Andrew knew it hadn’t been a happy time for him from things that Kevin and Robin and Nicky had said in passing.

“Are you still mad at me,” Andrew said dully.

“I was never mad,” Neil lied egregiously. “I mean, I _was_ mad, obviously,” he corrected himself. “But I was more hurt and lost. You’d always been a constant through college and I’d been working myself up to you being somewhere else, but you completely blindsided me with the breakup.”

Andrew didn’t say anything.

“From my point of view, everything was going okay and then one day you announced you were quitting exy and we didn’t have anything in common anymore, and before I knew it you’d moved out of the dorm and were refusing to talk to me.”

Put like that, it didn’t sound good. “I probably could have handled it better,” muttered Andrew.

Neil scoffed. “Yeah, you think?”

“Will you ever forgive me.”

Neil bit his lip and looked at the ceiling. “I’m not sure you need forgiveness for doing what you thought was right.” He shrugged. “Or, at least, I’m assuming you were doing what you thought was right. You never actually explained your reasons to me.”

Andrew looked over at Neil’s painting. He had hung it on the far wall where he could see it while lying in bed shortly after Thanksgiving. He tried to pretend he was driving, that he was free from all the weight pressing him down into his mattress.

“You don’t have to,” said Neil carefully.

“I gave you protection and goalkeeping,” said Andrew. “Without that, you didn’t need me.”

“You do know how stupid that is, right?” asked Neil. “I didn’t need you because of what you offered me. I always needed you because you’re you.”

“What about now.”

“Now’s a part of always,” said Neil.

Andrew watched Neil’s face. “Do you think I was wrong.”

Neil’s expression went thoughtful. “I don’t know anymore,” he admitted slowly. “I definitely thought so, at the time. But who knows what might have happened? Maybe long distance would have been too much for us. Maybe we needed time apart to become the people we are now. Maybe we would have imploded so badly that reconciliation was impossible. Or maybe we would have made it work and would still be together.” He shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. For what it’s worth, I’d want to be here no matter what, regardless what path we took.”

Andrew closed his eyes, still exhausted but lighter, somehow. “Read me something.”

Neil gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah, okay. Hold on, I thought I saw…” he shifted around on the bed, contorting himself so Andrew didn’t have to let go of his ankle.

Andrew heard the drawer of his bedside table open and he realized a second too late what Neil was going for. “Wait,” he said, but Neil was already pulling the rolled-up magazine out of the drawer and flattening it out.

He stilled when he saw his own face looking back at him from the cover and looked up at Andrew. “Really?” he asked delightedly.

Andrew was momentarily thankful that his emotions were deadened because otherwise he’d be mortified right now. He took the high road and pretended he had no idea what Neil was looking at, letting his eyes fall closed again.

“God, I hated this,” marvelled Neil, flipping through the glossy pages. “I’m sure you’ll be shocked to learn Kevin bullied me into it.”

He got to the cover article and cleared his throat and began to read it in an artificial radio-announcer voice, interjecting his own comments every couple seconds. He was merciless in mocking Kevin’s interview. He stopped when he got to his own, turning the pages without glancing at the pictures.

Andrew squeezed his ankle. “Read me the wise words of exy star Neil Josten,” he prompted.

“It was the most uncomfortable I’ve been in my life.”

“You’ve literally been tortured,” said Andrew. “Stop being melodramatic.”

“Hypocrite,” Neil said before sighing gustily. “Fine. I hate these pictures, though.”

“They’re good,” said Andrew. “I figured you were sleeping with the photographer.”

Neil inhaled his spit and started to cough, thumping himself on the chest. “You _what_?” he gasped.

“It’s how you’re looking at him,” said Andrew. “Sex eyes.”

“Oh my god,” said Neil, covering his face with one hand. “They are not.”

“I recognize the look.”

“Yeah, well,” said Neil clearing his throat and looking away. “He kept complaining that in all the shots I was obviously uncomfortable so he told me to pretend I was alone with someone I trusted.”

“Who did you—”

“ _You_ , obviously,” exclaimed Neil. “Asshole.”

Andrew considered. “That’s gay.”

“You’re gay,” grumbled Neil.

“Mhm,” agreed Andrew. “Got myself off looking at those pictures.”

Neil sputtered again. “Even the ones of Kevin?”

“He’s got nice abs,” said Andrew absently, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin below Neil’s ankle bone.

“Too bad they’re attached to the rest of him,” filled in Neil.

“Keep reading.”

Neil rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, and Andrew fell asleep listening to his voice, knowing he was safe and not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork in this chapter is by the incredibly talented broship-addict, who you can find on [tumblr](http://broship-addict.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/broship_addict).
> 
> If you like the artwork [reblog it on tumblr](https://broship-addict.tumblr.com/post/631615154679906304/my-piece-for-the-2020-aftgbigbang-if-you-like)


	11. May

> **_From:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Sanity level: flannel pyjamas and a warm cup of tea_
> 
> _I see you tried to slip that in without me noticing: that’s what **he** said_
> 
> _RE: real andrew. once, when you thought you were alone in the dorm, I caught you singing wannabe by the spice girls in front of the bathroom mirror while pretending your comb was a microphone. you had a whole choreographed routine_

The sound was almost deafening when Andrew made his way to his seat. It had already been loud and crowded out in the outer ring of the stadium, but that was nothing compared to the atmosphere in the stands. Andrew froze for a couple beats, giving himself time to become accustomed to the sensory overload. He took a deep breath to centre himself and to remind himself that he was here for Neil. Even though Neil would understand if Andrew had to turn tail and leave, he’d still be disappointed.

Once the nausea retreated, he looked around the small room filled with strangers. He knew that sitting in a private box was much preferable to being alone among the unwashed masses, but he was still deeply regretting accepting the invite to the team’s family box. It could cause problems for Neil if he lashed out at any of these people.

He caught sight of Lucy the real estate agent near the bar waving him over. He knew her pretty well now. Her girlfriend, Grace, was Neil’s best friend in town and the two of them frequently invited Neil and, lately by extension, Andrew over for game nights. Grace was a gigantic board game nut, favouring cooperative strategy games. She and Neil always came up with elaborate plans of attack while Andrew and Lucy sat back and shot each other commiserating looks about their ridiculously competitive significant others.

“How are you handling this?” asked Lucy in an undertone as Andrew reached her side. She slid over a glass of whisky, neat, because she was a goddess who had a job requiring excellent people-pleasing skills.

“It’s… loud,” said Andrew.

“Is this the first game you’ve come to?”

Andrew nodded, finishing off his whisky in two large swallows.

“Well I can’t help you understand what’s going on,” said Lucy cheerfully. “As far as I can tell, the sport makes no sense at all. But I know the people here and I can tell you who to avoid.” She dropped her voice to a pseudo-whisper. “Shocking twist: it’s most of them.”

“That I could have figured out on my own,” said Andrew. “And I already know the rules of stickball.”

“You’re ahead of me, then,” admitted Lucy. “I just stand up and scream when everyone else does. Come on, let’s get seats.” She pushed away from the bar, heading over to the box’s seating area. Andrew poured himself another tumblerful of whisky and followed her.

“How was Grace the last few days?” asked Andrew, taking the last seat in a row so he wouldn’t be boxed in.

“Insufferable,” sighed Lucy. “I swear she was muttering plays in her sleep and twice got up in the middle of the night to start sketching drills on a whiteboard. I didn’t even know we owned a whiteboard. I assume Neil was much the same?”

“Uh huh,” agreed Andrew.

The night previously, Neil had been so amped up about the game that Andrew had taken him for a long drive and then sucked his brains out through his cock in order to get him to go the fuck to sleep.

Exy playoffs in general had been an interesting time for them. Neil was too caught up in his own head to initiate anything remotely sexual, instead dealing with his energy and excitement by running and painting. Andrew had put him in touch with Alice months ago, and she’d texted Andrew at least three times over the past month to report that Neil had taken multiple dogs out for runs and had worn them out so much that she was half-worried that they might be in comas. A couple times Neil had neglected to respond to Andrew’s texts and Andrew had gone to his apartment to find him wild-eyed and paint spattered.

On the plus side, Andrew had liked at least one of his new paintings—it gave him the same feeling as sitting on the edge of the roof of Fox Tower—and had brought it home with him.

It had taken Andrew a couple weeks to completely regain his equilibrium after his depressive episode and during that time his own sex drive had been basically nil. After that, he’d rebounded too far in the other direction. He’d felt like a teenager again, horny all the time. It didn’t help that Neil was acting the exact same way he always did during playoffs in college, starting all the way back during his first year when Andrew still thought he could fuck Neil out of his system with a couple rough handjobs. Of course, the situation was different since Neil wasn’t convinced he was a couple months away from dying due to receiving a threatening text countdown. Or… he better not be. Andrew was not going to forgive him for failing to mention that again.

Eventually, Andrew had snapped. Neil had been pacing his living room during the third round of the playoffs, gesticulating wildly as he recited the opposing team’s defense stats to no one in particular, although Sir was watching him curiously from his perch on the back of the recliner.

Andrew slammed his laptop closed and turned to face Neil. “I’m going to blow you now,” he stated. Neil gaped at him. “Yes or no?”

Neil’s resulting expression reminded him of a fish, which should not have been attractive at all, but was somehow doing it for Andrew. Then he nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

Andrew vaulted himself over the back of the couch on his way to pin Neil to the wall, but Neil held out a hand to stop him.

“Not here,” he said, looking scandalized.

Andrew looked around. “What’s wrong with here?”

“ _Lord_ is watching, Andrew. We can’t do sex stuff in front of Lord.”

Which was a valid point, not that Andrew was willing to admit it. He crowded Neil against the wall and then grasped him by the thighs to hoist him up into the air.

“Oh,” said Neil breathlessly. “You can still do that?”

“Evidently,” replied Andrew, struggling to keep the strain out of his voice. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be and Neil had packed on a fair bit of muscle. No matter. He only had to make it about ten feet to his bed.

And despite the fact he didn’t make it and they collapsed on the floor instead, it wasn’t a big deal. He still got them both off and then Neil actually got a good night’s rest, so it was a win all around.

That had been several weeks prior. Now, tonight was the culmination of Neil’s entire season. It was game seven of the final round of the playoffs: whichever team won the game tonight won the championship. Needless to say, Neil had been twitchy and restless ever since he’d returned from the road trip where his team lost game six.

“Can you get me tickets to the final, or are they all sold out?” Andrew asked, a tactful amount of time after Neil had returned from their road loss (or actually, as soon as he got in the door).

Neil paused as he dropped his overnight duffel to the ground, nearly flattening Sir who was, as always, directly underfoot. King was more used to Neil’s presence now, so she was watching him suspiciously from the doorway to Andrew’s bedroom as opposed to hiding in his closet.

Neil practically lit up at Andrew’s question. “Every player gets two tickets to give out to whoever we want,” he said. “But there’s a friends and family box you could go to, instead. It’s less public. You really want to come?”

“The tickets aren’t for me,” Andrew replied, then tried for damage control when Neil visibly deflated, “although I’m willing to go, especially if I can get box seats.”

“You don’t have to; I know you don’t like exy.”

“I don’t _hate_ exy,” said Andrew, picking his words deliberately. “I’m not interested in pursuing it forever, but it did give me a way to get my family through college. And it brought me into contact with a lot of people I wouldn’t have met otherwise.”

Neil’s shoulders softened. “Why do you want the tickets?”

“As a thank you gift for one of my coworkers.”

“Which one?” asked Neil, launching himself onto the couch and ending up with his head in Andrew’s lap. He looked up at him expectantly.

“You need house training,” said Andrew, setting down his tablet on Neil’s face.

“You like me anyway,” said Neil, his voice muffled. Sir emitted one of his quack-like meows and jumped onto Neil’s chest to see what was going on.

Andrew moved his tablet and ran his hand through Neil’s hair, smoothing out his curls. “Sterling,” he replied, answering Neil’s earlier question. “One of The Chads. He was unexpectedly helpful with my last case and he covered for me when I wasn’t feeling well.”

“So you’re giving him a present?” asked Neil, dubiously.

“I don’t like feeling indebted to him.”

“Ah, everything becomes clear,” said Neil. “I’ll see about those tickets for you. Now, kiss me hello and make me feel better about losing last night.”

Neil had come through with the tickets and Andrew had passed them off to Sterling, trying not to make a big deal out of it.

“Oh, man! I can’t believe you got me tickets to the final game of the exy championships,” he marvelled. “Montgomery and I are going to have a blast.”

Andrew squinted at him. “I figured you’d take your girlfriend… or something,” he muttered.

Sterling laughed and clapped him on the back. Andrew pushed him out of his space.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Sterling, genuinely contrite. “Hey Monty!” he called to his dudebro friend.

The other Chad approached them, looking interested. “What’s up, dude?”

“Minyard here got us tickets to game seven!”

“No way, man!” said Montgomery. “Awesome!”

The two of them did some kind of bro hand slap thing and then, much to Andrew’s surprise, Montgomery pulled Sterling into a bruising kiss. Andrew was very confused—and a little turned on, which was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to know about himself.

Sterling pulled away. “Bro, not at work.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Your face is just so sexy, dude.”

Andrew decided he didn’t need to know and left them to it.

He assumed they were somewhere out in the heaving crowd, moving like waves in the darkened stadium as spotlights danced over it. He could barely hear himself think over the noise, screaming and shouting not nearly coming close to drowning out the excessively loud volume of the pre-game adrenaline-inducing dance music.

Andrew shot Lucy a look but she hadn’t been lying about screaming when everyone else did. She was on her feet, chanting along to a Wildcats cheer. An announcement came over the loudspeakers to tell them to welcome the home team, and the place practically exploded as the players rushed onto the court for their pre-game warmup. The announcer started running through the opening lineup and Andrew deigned to clap along with the burst of cheering that followed the words, “Starting striker, number ten, Neil Josten!”

Andrew caught sight of a tiny Neil joining his teammates in a run around their half of the court, shooting balls at the plexiglass goal. Tension and anticipation were thick in the air.

It didn’t take long before the teams left the inner court, grouping on either side of it for last minute pep talks as the refs took their places along the transparent walls.

“So, it’s good if the box behind their goalie flashes red and it’s bad if it’s the box behind our goalie, right?” asked Lucy, sitting back in her seat.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t know anything about the sport,” said Andrew.

“I’ve tried, I really have, but it’s just so silly,” she moaned.

Through the first half, Andrew found that it helped soothe his nerves to explain the game to her; although why he was nervous in the first place, he had no idea. He wanted Neil to win, of course—it was important to him and Andrew wanted him to be happy—but it didn’t affect Andrew one way or the other.

He spent halftime at the bar, rehashing several of the better plays with some guy he didn’t know, almost vibrating with combined anticipation and trepidation. It was good this was an event that wouldn’t repeat itself all that often; he was overwhelmed by all the emotions.

When Neil scored a goal that put the Wildcats ahead with two minutes left in the game, Andrew leapt to his feet and cheered himself hoarse along with everyone else. Then they only had to wait. In the last thirty seconds of the game, all the Wildcats’ players pulled back to play defense. Andrew’s hands curled into fists; their goalkeeper was good but not spectacular. Arrogantly, he was sure he’d be better if he’d kept playing. He had the urge to be out there, closing down the goal for Neil.

Regardless, when the final buzzer sounded, the Wildcats were ahead, this year’s exy champions. If the cheers when they’d entered the court had been loud, this one was trebly so. Andrew wouldn’t have been surprised if earthquake meters registered a spike. He clapped his hands to his ears and watched, feeling absurdly proud, as Neil disappeared under a dogpile of his teammates.

After that was the trophy presentation; Andrew was considering leaving when an usher showed up to take the box’s occupants down to the celebration happening in the inner court. Andrew followed along with the stream of people, wanting to see Neil’s unadulterated joy.

He stood back from the crush, but it didn’t take long before Neil, all sweaty and glowy, came bounding through the crowd to him. He pulled Andrew into a hug for a couple seconds, before backing away.

“Sorry, I’m gross,” he laughed, running a hand through his sweat-and-possibly-Gatorade-soaked hair.

Andrew shrugged, because getting Neil sweaty and covered in fluids was one of his favourite pastimes, and reached for him.

Neil sidestepped his hand, giving a surreptitious look around.

“What is it?” asked Andrew.

“There are cameras,” said Neil.

“You don’t want to be outed,” nodded Andrew, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“No!” Neil practically shouted. “That’s not it. I was in an LGBT issue of Sports Illustrated, remember? I don’t care. But I don’t know if you’re interested in getting photographed—”

Andrew cut him off by pulling him into a kiss, cameras and spectators be damned. Neil was his and he didn’t care who knew it. In fact, he’d prefer if everyone knew to keep their hands to themselves.

Neil’s eyes were completely dilated when they separated, staring at Andrew in a mix of lust and awe. “Take me home,” he whispered.

“I knew winning at exy would make you horny, you junkie,” said Andrew.

“Only for you, Andrew,” replied Neil warmly. “Only ever for you.”


	12. June

> **_From:_ ** _doppelganger <a.m.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _me <a.minyard@gmail.com>_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _RE: monthly report_
> 
> _Avg hours of sleep: seventeen (no, wait, that’s total hours of sleep)_
> 
> _you’re avoiding talking about your relationship. just tell me one thing: are you happy?_
> 
> _RE: spice girls. how is this **never talking about it again?** you’re the one who’s all uptight about not breaking promises_

“So… you’re socializing exactly how much I thought you would,” said Robin, dropping onto the grass at Andrew’s side.

“I have to watch Lord,” said Andrew, gesturing with his mixed drink at where Lord was making his way through the overgrown garden, stopping every once and a while to dig and burrow into the dirt. He’d been right back in February; it was the perfect place for an outdoor enclosure for him.

“Your official party duty is turtle minder?” Robin teased, stretching out on her back. The back corner of the yard was shady, with sparse, dappled light making it past the large oak’s canopy.

“He’s a tortoise,” said Andrew loftily.

Besides, he’d socialized. Earlier. He and Neil had arrived first, other than Matt and Dan, driving over from Andrew’s apartment with supplies and Lord in a tupperware tub.

After helping set up, Andrew had taken Lord to the far corner of the yard and since then he’d spoken to Renee and to Marlena when they came to sit with him and even to Dan when she’d brought him a burger and grilled pineapple.

“You know, he kinda reminds me of you,” said Robin, propping herself up on one elbow.

“In what way?”

She reached out to Lord, who instantly tried to bite her. Her reflexes were fast enough that she snatched her hand away before he could make contact, laughing as she did.

“Point taken,” said Andrew.

“I don’t blame you,” said Robin. “They’re very… yeah.” She gestured lazily around the yard.

People milled around the backyard of Neil’s new house, enjoying the warm spring temperature. He’d taken possession about a week previously and had been slowly moving his stuff in and having his new furniture delivered. Dan and Matt had come to help him out and were staying in the house (Neil was camping out at Andrew’s for the duration of their visit as he only currently owned one bed). His other friends had flown in for the housewarming party and to stay for a short visit: Renee and Allison from New York, Kevin and Thea from Houston, Robin from Boston, and Devon and his wife from New Orleans. Neil had also invited those of his current teammates he was close to as well as Andrew’s friends to today’s housewarming party.

The party was doubling, or tripling actually, as a celebration for the Wildcats’ championship win (which Kevin was looking at little sour about—his team had been eliminated in the first round of the playoffs) and as a congratulatory get together for those who had been invited to join the National Court for the Olympics in August. Next week Neil was heading off to training camp in Virginia for six weeks before going to Brazil. Andrew wasn’t looking forward to the distance, but he knew they’d survive it. He had already booked time off and his hotel room in Rio—he couldn’t afford the trip on his salary but Neil easily could and Andrew wasn’t going to miss seeing Neil potentially win a gold medal in person (or the subsequent celebration).

Andrew leaned back against the fence he was sitting next to, letting himself relax. It had been a long week; he’d been incredibly busy at work and had spent most of his evenings helping Neil sort through and pack (and unpack) his belongings. The party was taking a toll on his already-low social batteries, but he wasn’t willing to miss it.

The house was everything he’d expected. Neil, Matt, and Dan had repainted the whole thing (which, from what Andrew could tell, consisted of Neil and Matt goofing off and getting covered in paint while Dan sighed at them and eventually corralled them into doing it properly) and it was starting to look like a home now that Neil’s possessions were mostly unpacked.

Andrew could see the empty places, the spots Neil left untouched. They hadn’t spoken about moving in together, but he could tell that Neil was leaving him space to decide. The second bedroom upstairs was still empty, there was a desk and a chair in the downstairs office but no bookshelf or computer, the built-in bookshelves around the window seat that Andrew loved were still empty, and there were vacant places in the living room where Andrew’s recliner and Lord’s table aquarium would fit. The kitchen was only partially stocked, leaving room for Andrew’s collection of small appliances and utensils. There was room for him here. His lease didn’t expire until October, but Andrew was already thinking about not renewing it. This could be his home. This could be his life.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at Robin, who for all intents and purposes seemed to have fallen into a light doze. She wouldn’t care if he checked his messages. Not that he particularly cared about being rude, but he had promised Neil he wouldn’t spend the whole party using his phone to ignore people.

Sliding his phone out, he saw it was his monthly check in email from Aaron. He’d been sidestepping any and all of Aaron’s questions about Neil, at first not ready to discuss anything while their relationship was still tentative and fragile, then having fun irritating Aaron. He could tell he’d reached the end of Aaron’s patience and that he was actually getting worried. It was time to put him out of his misery.

Considering his words carefully, he glanced around the yard to check on how everyone was faring. Renee and Alice were sitting in bucket chairs, discussing something (possibly punching technique, based on their accompanying gestures). Kevin was locked in a passionate debate about something with Marlena, while Peter was flirting with a clearly-amused Allison. Behind them, Thea and Grace were chatting about exy, based on the way Lucy was rolling her eyes beside them. On the deck, Dan’s eyebrows were raised to her hairline while listening to whatever the Chads were telling her. Neil was still manning the barbecue, being helped—or, more likely, being egged into setting things on fire—by Matt, Devon, and Julie.

Neil looked up as if he could feel Andrew’s eyes on him. He made an ‘okay’ sign with his fingers, raising his eyebrows in a question. Andrew nodded in reply.

Neil grinned and mouthed the word ‘dessert’, pantomiming eating, to which Andrew sent him a thumbs up. Matt said something that caught Neil’s attention and he turned and laughed, the joyful sound making Andrew’s chest ache. His eyes continued to follow Neil as he handed off his tongs and headed through the sliding doors into the kitchen.

Andrew thumbed open his messaging app as Neil went to get him a slice of pie, pulling up his thread with Aaron. The last message he’d received was an evil Kermit meme, which Andrew was pretending not to be amused by.

_am i happy?_ he typed slowly. _don’t ask stupid questions._

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork in this chapter is by the incredibly talented broship-addict, who you can find on [tumblr](http://broship-addict.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/broship_addict).
> 
> If you like the artwork [reblog it on tumblr](https://broship-addict.tumblr.com/post/631615154679906304/my-piece-for-the-2020-aftgbigbang-if-you-like)
> 
> That's it! I can't believe it's over! Please let me know what you thought, I love hearing from you.
> 
> For the first time in almost ~~three~~ four (god, I’ve been here longer than I thought!) years, I don't have another WIP in the works. I don't know when or if I'll write again for this fandom, but in any case I'd like to thank everyone who has read or commented on one of my fics or sent me an ask or interacted with me in any way. You're the reason I've been here for so long <3
> 
> I can be found on tumblr [@gluupor](http://gluupor.tumblr.com).


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